


lift the weight of the world that is hanging on me

by grantairrible



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Trans Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairrible/pseuds/grantairrible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is not meant to be in love with anyone. He is meant to love humanity, but to stay apart from everyone. To be the statue that everyone wants him to be.<br/>Almost everyone.<br/>Enjolras can tell it hurts Combeferre to keep him at an arm’s length, and Enjolras lets his friends be his only indulgence. It is easy to believe in humanity when you surround yourself with people who inspire you, in any case.</p><p>Everything starts to go well between them, and Enjolras starts to think he can let go of some of the burden of humanity.<br/>But then, of course, everything goes wrong. Because Combeferre falls in love with someone that isn’t Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for anyone reading: this fic deals with a fair bit of mental illness, particularly anxiety and depression. There are several panic attacks described in detail throughout, and while I'll post in each individual chapter, Enjolras' anxiety is pretty central to this fic, so if that triggers you or makes you uncomfortable in any way, then this is not the fic for you. There is a panic attack in this chapter, but it's not described in explicit detail.
> 
> Basically my therapist told me to take care of myself before I try to fight the world's battles, and I could easily imagine that happening to Enjolras, and thus this fic was born. I can promise a happy ending, and this is in no way a fic centred on love curing mental illness. Some of this is based on my own feelings of anxiety, but made much worse. If you feel I've misrepresented anything, please let me know.
> 
> Title from 'Panic Attack' by the Vaccines.

** Prologue  **

**  
**

Nobody notices the way Enjolras’ hands shake as they grip the podium. He is harsh and angry and loud, and everyone is so used to seeing him from a distance that nobody is used to really noticing him.

Enjolras encourages this.

When nobody knows him up close, he can be perfect and polished; a leader. A figurehead.

He doesn’t have to be a person. He doesn’t _want_ to be a person.

When he is up on stage, even if he throws up from nerves beforehand and shakes himself to sleep after, he is only his ideals. He is not Enjolras. He is the revolution.

Enjolras is only alive in moments like this, when he opens his mouth and begins to speak.

Or at least he used to be. Now he doesn't know what he is.  _You're only human_ , Courfeyrac would tell him, and Enjolras doesn't know if he wants to be only anything.

 

* * *

 

 

The problem started with Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac loves people, is wonderful and approachable, and although Enjolras is charismatic, he is fiery and fierce, and people much prefer to talk to Courfeyrac. All of this suits Enjolras fine, but Courfeyrac wanted to know Enjolras personally. The first time Courfeyrac pulled Enjolras into a hug, Enjolras had to excuse himself to have a panic attack in the toilets.

It wasn’t because he didn’t enjoy the hug and the contact. It was because he _did_.

Enjolras isn’t meant to want things for himself. He exists only to help other people.

But then Courfeyrac started to bring people into Enjolras’ inner sanctum, and that’s how Enjolras met Combeferre.

 

Combeferre, who takes Enjolras’ hand as he steps off the stage. Combeferre, who Enjolras is frighteningly, maddeningly in love with. Enjolras is torn apart whenever he’s around Combeferre. He wants to be with Combeferre, and can tell from the thumbs that brush over Enjolras’ freckles, brown on brown on brown, that Combeferre cares for him too. Enjolras is somehow in love with Combeferre, despite how hard he rails against his feelings. He tears his hair out in frustration and anxiety, and then takes to pulling his mane of golden locks back into messy buns to cover up the thinner patches. He is not meant to be in love with anyone. He is meant to love humanity, but to stay apart from everyone. To be the statue that everyone wants him to be.

Almost everyone.

Enjolras can tell it hurts Combeferre to keep him at an arm’s length, and Enjolras lets his friends be his only indulgence. It is easy to believe in humanity when you surround yourself with people who inspire you, in any case.

But Enjolras finds himself making more and more friends, connecting with all of these _people_ , loving them with all of his heart, and they start to become more important to him than anything. Even the Cause.

That’s when Combeferre finds Enjolras, collapsed on the floor, hands numb as he gasps for breath. Combeferre moves into the spare room and keeps an eye on Enjolras, encourages him to see a psychologist. Everything starts to go well between them, and Enjolras starts to think he can let go of some of the burden of humanity.

But then, of course, everything goes wrong. Because Combeferre falls in love with someone that isn’t Enjolras.

 

 

* * *

 

 

** Chapter 1 **

**  
**

Enjolras’ eyes are starting to feel borderline desiccated as he stares at his laptop screen, the only source of light in the dark apartment. He hadn’t even realised the sun had set, absorbed as he was in research for the latest _Amis_ project, but now it is past midnight and his eyes feel disgusting. It’s probably a signal to stop, but Enjolras ignores it. He’s good at ignoring his body’s needs when he’s focused on something. Which reminds him, he has forgotten to have dinner. Again. His stomach, as if noticing that he is actually paying attention to it, lets out a loud grumble, and Enjolras is really glad Combeferre isn’t home to hear it.

But Enjolras isn’t supposed to be thinking about that.

Enjolras sinks down further into the couch cushions and rubs his eyes. It’s all that Grantaire guy’s fault. Enjolras had a perfect routine with Combeferre, sorting out cooking and cleaning in the apartment, catching up with their friends periodically, proofreading each other’s work – so long as it wasn’t too far outside their range of expertise, like that paper on quantum mechanics or something that Combeferre had written. Enjolras shudders. But that’s beside the point. They had a routine, and it worked, and now some random scruffy tattoo artist who plays the guitar has come along and seduced Combeferre with his knowledge of bugs and stars and whatever else Combeferre talks about in his job at the museum. Grantaire had brought flowers, which Combeferre had marvelled over, although they made Enjolras sneeze. And then they were both gone, even though Enjolras usually watches documentaries with Combeferre on Friday nights.

Enjolras tries to ignore the unpleasant feeling growing in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t usually get like this when Combeferre hangs out with someone, it’s just because it’s _Grantaire_. Enjolras slams his laptop shut, irritated with himself. He isn’t usually this judgemental; what is it about Grantaire that pisses him off so much? Enjolras barely knows the guy – surely he doesn’t have any reason to dislike him so strongly, at least not so soon. But that undeniable feeling is there, swirling with guilt in a sickening combination.

He tries to pretend it’s not jealousy. It doesn’t work.

Enjolras slumps down on the couch, considering getting something to eat, when the door opens and Combeferre steps through, taking care to be as quiet as possible.

“Have fun?” Enjolras asks, aiming for friendliness. He can do this. He isn’t a complete asshole.

Combeferre lets out a strange yelping noise that might have been an aborted scream. “Holy- you scared me there, Enjolras. Why are all the lights off?”

Enjolras flinches and covers his eyes as Combeferre flicks the switch, and the apartment is flooded with light. “I didn’t notice the sun setting.”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre sighs, “You’re working too hard again. It’s a Friday night.”

“You’re up at the same time as me.” Enjolras says, defensive. He refuses to meet Combeferre’s gaze, which is bound to be disappointed.

“It’s not the same.” Combeferre joins Enjolras on the couch, placing a warm hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “I was out with someone. You were on your own here in the dark, researching something that I’m sure you know everything about.”

“Combeferre, you know it’s important.”

Combeferre sighs again, and Enjolras can’t help but feel like that was the wrong answer, even if it was the truth. “I know, just… take care of yourself as well, okay?”

Then Combeferre is gone, socked feet quiet on the floorboards as he goes to get ready for bed.

“It’s more important than me.” Enjolras whispers to himself, and clutches his laptop to his chest as he makes his way to his bedroom, as if it can guard against the hollow feeling beneath his ribs.

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras walks home with a weird feeling fluttering inside of him, keeping him on edge. He’s just come out of an appointment with his therapist, who had told him to stop fighting the battles of the world, and to take care of himself first.

Enjolras hunches his shoulders forward, cold wind flipping through his hair. The problem is, he doesn’t know how to do that. He doesn’t really feel as though he matters as much as all the people around him.

Enjolras has always found it difficult to do certain things – he’s good at speeches, and standing up for other people, but as soon as something concerns only him, it’s nigh impossible, or he just forgets about it. At the same time, he holds himself to what he knows are ridiculous standards, and is always disappointed when he inevitably falls short.

Enjolras had seen that therapy would be helpful, and had made an appointment when Combeferre suggested it. That didn’t – and still doesn’t – make it any easier to see why he deserves it.

It isn’t that Enjolras doesn’t _want_ things to be better. He can already tell that his self-confidence is improving, and it feels good. It just comes with a lot of guilt.

Enjolras’ feet carry him automatically to the apartment he shares with Combeferre, and he finds himself standing outside the door with no recollection of the journey there, caught up in his thoughts as he had been.

“Enjolras? Is everything okay?”

Enjolras blinks. Oh, right. He needs to actually open the door. He turns to face Combeferre, who is laden down with bags of groceries. “Um. I guess?”

“Let’s get inside, and we can talk if you want. Could you get the door?”

“Yeah.” Enjolras says, his brain taking a minute to process the information. Door. His keys are in his pocket, as they always are, and he gladly enters the familiar space, tiredness hitting him all of a sudden.

They put the shopping away in silence, Combeferre placing a large hand on Enjolras’ shoulder whenever Enjolras starts to stare off into space for too long. Afterwards, Combeferre bundles them up in blankets and they sit on the couch with mugs of hot chocolate.

Enjolras takes a sip, and focuses on the taste and the warmth of the drink, and the sensation of the slightly scratchy blanket wrapped around him. “Sorry.” He says, blinking up at Combeferre. “I was thinking, and then I just sort of drifted off.”

“It’s okay.” Combeferre says, but there’s a wrinkle between his brows and Enjolras just _aches_ at the worry he’s causing. “As long as you’re alright? We can find another psychologist, if this one isn’t what you need.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “She’s really good. I think things are getting better.”

“I’m glad.” Combeferre says, and wraps an arm around Enjolras as Enjolras leans into him.

“It’s just… not pleasant.” Enjolras sighs as Combeferre pulls him close and presses a kiss to the top of his head. _It’s okay_ , Enjolras reminds himself, as the automatic urge to pull away rears its head. _You’re allowed to want this._

“I have homework.” Enjolras says, wrinkling his nose. “Therapy homework.”

Enjolras looks up in time to catch the tail end of Combeferre’s fond smile. “You’ll be bound to take it seriously then.”

“You really can’t talk about anyone taking homework seriously.” Enjolras says. “Now, can we watch a documentary, since _somebody_ bailed on our usual session?” Enjolras grins to show he isn’t serious, and Combeferre only looks a little affronted.

“I already apologised for that, Mr Guilt Trip.” Combeferre says, but gets up to plug his laptop into the TV. “Creatures of the deep sea, or alien conspiracy theories?”

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras is working on an essay at the Musain when Joly walks into the café, face splitting into a grin once he sees Enjolras. Enjolras grins back and waves, and Joly joins him after ordering. Joly has his cane with him, which means it’s a bad pain day, but he is as cheerful as Enjolras has ever seen him.

“Everything okay?” Joly asks, taking in the number of pencils tucked into Enjolras’ bun, and the stack of books lined up next to the laptop.

“Yeah.” Enjolras says absently, taking a sip of long-forgotten coffee and grimacing. “Just have a lot of work to do.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” Joly says, and looks dubious when Enjolras only hums in response.

Joly exclaims and profusely thanks the waiter when his tea is brought over, and considers Enjolras while stirring the leaves in the teapot. The air is filled with the scent of peppermint, and Enjolras inhales deeply, feeling the muscles in his back and neck loosen slightly.

Joly shoots him a secretive smile, and Enjolras just raises an eyebrow in response. “What?”

“It’s nothing.” Joly says, and pours out his tea. “I find peppermint tea relaxing, too. That’s all. Bossuet or Chetta always make me some if I’ve been particularly anxious. It’s not like it’s medication, or anything, but sometimes it can take the edge off a little. So long as your mind slows down enough for you to take the time to enjoy it.”

Enjolras looks up at Joly over the edge of his laptop. “What are you trying to say, Joly?”

“Oh, nothing.” Joly says innocently, and digs in his bag, pulling out a textbook and a pack of sticky notes, along with a few frankly adorable pens. “Do you mind if I do some work here? I promise to be quiet.”

“Of course you can.” Enjolras says, and starts typing again.

Joly stays for over an hour, bringing cakes and more tea over to the table halfway through, this time with a mug for Enjolras. Enjolras doesn’t want to admit it to himself, but he really likes the tea and the company. Joly encourages Enjolras to close his laptop to take a break, and Enjolras does. It feels good, but at the same time his mind is screaming about everything he could be doing right now.

“It’s okay.” Joly says, after a long period of silence, noticing the glances Enjolras is sending his computer. “If it’s making you more anxious, then don’t put off working on my account.”

Enjolras shrugs. He isn’t sure if he wants to confide in anyone, but if anyone will understand, it’s Joly. “It’s just hard, you know? Things that are going to help me get better in the long run feel awful now.”

“I understand.” Joly says quietly, and doesn’t speak again while Enjolras gets back to work. He disappears for a moment, taking his sparkly cane with him. When he returns, he has a packet of loose leaf peppermint tea and a little infuser with him, as well as a small packet of organic fair trade chocolate.

“For when you’re done with your work.” Joly says.

Enjolras’ chest hurts. He’s never had any trouble with doing things for other people, but as soon as anyone reaches out to help him, he feels so horribly guilty. Joly is smiling at him, holding out the presents, and his smile only widens when Enjolras takes them with a small _thank you._

“We all care about you.” Joly says. “If nothing else, please just remember that.”

Enjolras nods. “I will.”

Then Bossuet and Musichetta come bounding up to the table, each greeting Joly with a kiss, and the ache in Enjolras’ chest grows deeper.

Enjolras hates to admit it, but he wants someone – or _two_ someones, like Joly, his mind supplies, and Enjolras dismisses the thought of flashing green eyes and unruly black curls along with his vision of Combeferre – to look at him like that. To kiss him in welcome when they’ve been apart.

And _oh_.

Enjolras pauses, and glances back up at the trio through his eyelashes. They love each other so much. How could that love ever be a terrible thing?

Enjolras lets out a shaky breath as he realises that maybe, just maybe, his want outweighs the guilt. And it terrifies him.

 

* * *

 

 

When Enjolras makes it back to the apartment after his revelation, he’s shocked out of his thoughts by someone sitting on the couch.

Someone who is not Combeferre, and who is not a member of Les Amis de l’ABC. Enjolras has only met this man a couple of times before, with his shifting gaze and his thorned tongue, but he’s had an annoyingly large impact on Enjolras.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras forces himself to say pleasantly. “I didn’t realise you would be here. Hi.”

Grantaire fiddles with the label on the empty beer bottle he’s holding, at odds with his lazy grin. “Hey. It was Enjolras, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Enjolras says, suddenly hyper-aware of his body. How does he normally act when he met people? What does he usually say? “Um. Excuse me for a sec.”

Grantaire lifts his shoulder, the irritatingly elegant shrug of someone utterly in control of their body, and Enjolras dashes into his bedroom as quickly as possible, pausing only to say a brief _hello_ to Combeferre on his way past the kitchen.

Enjolras sits on his bed and tries to calm his bounding heart. Fuck. Where was his normal, charming persona? What on earth had happened out there?

Enjolras casts his mind back over the awkward scene, lingering especially on the light shifting across Grantaire’s eyes, lighting up the golden flecks like autumn leaves in a fathomless pool, and the strands of black hair that had escaped from Grantaire’s messy ponytail, curling around his face.

“No.” Enjolras groans to himself. “No, no, no. Please no.” Why does Combeferre’s boyfriend have to be _stupidly_ gorgeous? And okay, Enjolras allows, Grantaire isn’t exactly attractive in the most conventional sense. But he oozes confidence and charm, and there is just something about Grantaire that makes Enjolras certain that he would be excellent in bed.

“Fuck.” Enjolras says for good measure, and digs around in his bag for the tea from Joly. He really hopes he will be able to relax just that tiniest bit so conversation between him and Grantaire won’t be quite as awkward. If nothing else, it should taste nice and provide something for Enjolras to do with his hands. He takes a deep breath and heads back into the living room.

“Coffee? Tea?” Enjolras asks, with what he hopes is a natural smile glued to his features.

Grantaire looks a little wary. Enjolras decides he needs to work on his facial expressions. “Coffee, thanks. Black, no sugar.”

“No worries.” Enjolras disappears into the kitchen, where Combeferre is making some kind of vegetable curry that smells absolutely amazing.

“I’m making drinks, you want anything?” Enjolras flicks the kettle on and fishes for the container of coffee.

“Tea, thanks.” Combeferre says absently, studying the recipe. “There’s still some of those strange teas that Jehan brought over, I’ll have one of those.”

Enjolras grabs the box and puts one of the little pyramid-shaped teabags in a mug while he waits for the kettle. “What on earth is in this? It smells really weird.”

Combeferre throws Enjolras a look over his shoulder. “It’s from Jehan.” He says, as if that explains it. If Enjolras is being fair, it does.

“What’s that?” Combeferre asks, once the curry is bubbling away on the stove and Enjolras is making his own mug of peppermint tea.

“Hmm? Oh, this?” Enjolras lifts up the infuser. “Joly got it for me.”

Combeferre notices the small smile that graces Enjolras’ features, and pulls Enjolras into a brief, one armed hug. “That was nice of him. And that smells really good, I’m now regretting my tea choices.”

Enjolras shrugs and hands him the mug of strange tea. “You’re the one who asked for it.”

Combeferre grimaces. “I did indeed.”

Enjolras begins to load up a tray with his tea and Grantaire’s coffee, as well as a plate of biscuits.

“You’ll ruin your appetites.” Combeferre says, but steals a biscuit. He turns the curry down to a low heat and follows Enjolras out to the sitting room.

“What on earth is that smell?” Grantaire asks as soon as they walk into the room.

Combeferre looks down at his mug despondently. “It’s my tea.”

Grantaire leans over and sniffs at it. “It’s not _bad_. It’s just…”

“Weird.” Enjolras finishes, handing Grantaire his coffee. “We’ve established that.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow and nabs a biscuit from the plate. “And mister snark has re-emerged. I wonder where you’d got to, what with being all nice and polite to me before.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his tea. It’s lovely and warm, but he’s not sure he’ll ever feel relaxed in Grantaire’s presence, no matter how attracted to him he is. Or maybe it’s because of that.

“Enjolras isn’t very good with people he doesn’t know well.” Combeferre explains.

Enjolras huffs. “Enjolras is _right here_. And Enjolras is perfectly good with strangers when he wants to be.”

Combeferre only takes a sip of his tea in response, and Grantaire bites his lip, looking between them.

Enjolras screws up his face and drinks his own tea with as much dignity as he can muster. “If you want, you can come to one of Les Amis’ meetings. If you want.”

“Social justice meetings?” Grantaire grimaces. “I don’t think you’d want me there.”

“Combeferre will be there.” Enjolras says, and Grantaire still looks uncertain.

Combeferre hides a small, secret smile. “There’ll be alcohol.”

“I’m in.” Grantaire says, and laughs when Enjolras looks completely despairing of him.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re sure he wants me there?”

Enjolras looks over to where Combeferre and Grantaire are standing, hovering in front of the door as Grantaire puts his coat on. Their voices are hushed, but the apartment is almost completely silent. It’s not as if Enjolras is _trying_ to eavesdrop. Although… he _would_ be making more noise if he was actually washing the dishes in the sink in front of him.

“Grantaire.” Combeferre kisses Grantaire with such tenderness that Enjolras has to look away, ignoring a twinge of jealousy. “Enjolras invited you.”

Grantaire shrugs. “He might have just been being polite.”

“If Enjolras doesn’t want someone to come to Les Amis, he has ways of making sure they’re not there.” Combeferre explains, face still only a few intimate centimetres from Grantaire’s. “So don’t worry about that. If you don’t want to go, though, then it’s not a problem.”

Grantaire shakes his head, but even Enjolras can tell he isn’t convinced. “I’ll be there.”

Enjolras fumbles for some plates as Combeferre sees Grantaire out, scrubbing hurriedly so Combeferre won’t notice the empty dish rack.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to upload this chapter until Sunday buuut I just submitted my last assignment which means I've finished my first year of uni so I thought I'd celebrate. I'm far too impatient when it comes to updating fics!!

Enjolras is nervous the entire day leading up to that week’s Les Amis meeting, forcing himself to pay attention in his classes. He can tell he’s all over the place, though, and ignores the fact that he knows the reason for his jitters.

Grantaire.

Enjolras hates himself for it. First he develops feelings for Combeferre, and now he’s attracted to Combeferre’s boyfriend? Enjolras tries to convince himself that it’s just the relationship that he’s jealous of, but he knows it’s more than that.

Enjolras’ desire to impress Grantaire has resulted in hours of sleep lost in researching and writing speeches, editing until every single word is perfect. Enjolras is practically buzzing as he enters the back room of the Musain, setting up his laptop and the projector, bringing up the pages of impeccably organised statistics. The latest campaign is raising both awareness and funds for trans kids, an issue particularly close to Enjolras. He hopes that he can gauge Grantaire’s reaction from this, although he doubts Combeferre would have started dating a bigot.

Enjolras has a sparkly pink dildo in his bag, just in case someone new is at the meeting and decides it’s appropriate to ask about his genitals. Joly had been aghast when he’d first seen it, warning Enjolras of the toxic materials often used in sex toys, and Enjolras had assured him that this one was only used for throwing at people, and hence why he’d gone for the cheap option. Enjolras might only rarely experience sexual attraction, but he has invested in medical-grade silicone for his personal use, thank you very much.

The room begins to fill around Enjolras, each member offering Enjolras a hug, careful about his boundaries since the Courfeyrac hug debacle. There had been a long discussion about consent in every activity, and since then everyone has been fine about asking before initiating anything with anyone, especially if it’s first contact.

Enjolras tries not to light up too much when Combeferre and Grantaire arrive, but isn’t remotely successful, from the looks of Courfeyrac’s amused grin. Combeferre gives Enjolras a somewhat perfunctory hug, and with an awkward wave from Grantaire they head to the back of the room, Grantaire immediately pulling out his sketchbook and burying himself in its pages, along with a bottle of wine. The first glass is gone worryingly quickly. Surely Combeferre wouldn’t have used alcohol as an incentive if Grantaire has an issue with drinking? But Combeferre looks a little concerned too, and murmurs something to Grantaire as Enjolras takes his place at the front of the room. Grantaire doesn’t even look up from his sketchbook, and Enjolras quashes his disappointment.

“Thanks for coming, everyone.” Enjolras says, “Ready to begin?”

There’s a general murmur of assent, and Enjolras launches into his speech.

 

* * *

 

 

“That’s not going to work.” Grantaire says, the first thing he’s said all night. He’s still looking down at his sketchbook.

Enjolras represses a sigh. “Can you propose a better alternative?”

Grantaire takes a gulp of wine and actually looks up at Enjolras, giving him a quick smirk. “Nope. To be honest, I wasn’t really listening, but people aren’t going to change in their ways so easily.”

“That’s very helpful.” Enjolras can’t keep the bite out of his voice. He's put in so much effort, and Grantaire doesn't even care enough to pay attention. “Tell me, are you actually going to contribute anything useful?”

“Enjolras.” Courfeyrac warns.

“No, it’s fine.” Grantaire said, tone sharp. “I wasn’t aware that you measured people’s worth by their productivity. Interesting.”

Enjolras flinches. “I didn’t mean-“

“But you still said it. I wonder how you’re successful with your speeches if you allow your emotions to taint what you’re saying so much. I expected better control from you.”

“Grantaire.” Combeferre says, placing a hand on Grantaire’s arm.

“You can really speak of control.” Enjolras says. “How much wine have you had tonight?”

It’s Grantaire’s turn to flinch. “Thanks for inviting me.” He says, and gathers his things. “But I don’t think this is working. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Grantaire is gone before Enjolras can say anything.

Combeferre storms up to Enjolras, bag over his shoulder. “What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.” Enjolras says. “I’m so sorry, ‘Ferre.”

“Don’t apologise to me.” Combeferre says. He’s already on his way to the door. “This is your mess to fix, Enjolras. Don’t talk to me until you’ve apologised to him. And please stay somewhere else tonight. I don’t think I can stand to see your face again for a while.”

Enjolras stands there helplessly while Combeferre leaves without a glance over his shoulder.

“Enjolras-“ Feuilly is the first to stand, to reach out.

“Don’t.” Enjolras cuts him off. “I don’t deserve your comfort. I was way out of line.”

“Don’t do this to yourself, it’s not helpful.” Feuilly says, while the rest of the group watches on, stunned and silent. “It doesn’t achieve anything.”

Enjolras clenches his hands into fists at his side, until Courfeyrac stands and places a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“Is this okay?”

Enjolras nods, the picture of tension.

“We’re going to fix this, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac says, guiding Enjolras into the nearest chair. “This is a perfectly fixable situation. You messed up, but it’ll be okay.”

Enjolras lets out a deep breath. “Are you sure?” His voice is painfully uncertain, so far from the image he usually tries to project.

“Yes. I’m not lying to you, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac’s hand is still on Enjolras’ arm, grounding him. “Now, do you want the others here to help us figure out what to do, or do you want them to leave? Don’t worry about them, just focus on what you want.”

“Leave, if that’s okay.” Enjolras doesn’t want them to see him vulnerable like this.

They all leave, the JBM trio last, Bossuet writing out Grantaire’s number on a scrap of paper. Enjolras didn’t even realise they knew each other, but Bossuet is infinitely likeable, if he is anything.

“Thank you.” Enjolras whispers.

Bossuet offers a gentle smile, and then Enjolras is alone with Courfeyrac.

“Okay, so first things first you’ve got to figure out this apology.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t deserve this.” Enjolras protests weakly while Courfeyrac makes him hot chocolate and settles them in front of the TV in Courfeyrac’s tiny flat. “I fucked up, you’re not meant to comfort me for that.”

Courfeyrac flicks through the channels and finds something relatively harmless, that won’t take too much brain power to watch. “I’m not comforting you because you messed up, I’m doing it because you’re punishing yourself for it, and you don’t deserve that. You’ve kept your emotions bottled up for who knows how many years, of course expressing them isn’t always going to go right. Maybe you should go over anger management strategies with your therapist, but you didn’t know you were going to react like that. Just apologise, hope Grantaire forgives you, and move on with your life. Of course you shouldn’t be happy that you hurt someone you care about, but you shouldn’t berate yourself over it forever.”

“Okay.” Enjolras fiddles with his mug. “I’ll try.”

They’ve just lapsed into silence, half-watching the TV, when there’s a knock at the door. Courfeyrac gets up to answer it, leaving Enjolras alone with his thoughts. Enjolras can hear the murmur of voices, and he would be able to tell Combeferre’s voice from anyone’s, but he doesn’t even try look at Combeferre, ashamed as he is. There’s a _click_ as the door closes, and Enjolras is jolted out of his thoughts by something flying into his lap.

“Combeferre realised you didn’t have your medication with you, and he figured you’d be here.”

Enjolras looks down at the box, and pulls out his phone.

__

_Enjolras:_ Thank you for bringing my meds. I know you’re mad at me, and I really am sorry. I need to get some clothes before uni tomorrow, but I can wait until you’ve left. I understand if you don’t want to see me yet.

 

 _Combeferre:_ Being mad at you would be a lot easier if you weren’t so reasonable about it. Grantaire and I will see you tomorrow night.

 

Courfeyrac laughs, and Enjolras’ gaze flickers to the TV, wondering if he’d missed the only funny moment in the dreadfully boring show. “What did I miss?”

“You really do love him, don’t you?”

Enjolras looks over at Courfeyrac. “What?”

“I’m not making fun of you, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac says gently. “But it’s painfully obvious whenever you’re talking to him. Combeferre hasn’t noticed, don’t worry.”

“What about Grantaire?” Enjolras can feel something sinking in his stomach. “Do you think he can tell?”

Courfeyrac shrugs. “Hard to be sure. But maybe.”

“Fuck.” Enjolras buries his face in his hands. “No wonder he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac says. There’s something in his voice, something almost regretful. “I can promise you that much. It might seem like it at the moment, and he might not be super impressed with you right now, but he doesn’t hate you.”

“How do you know?” Enjolras asks.

Courfeyrac just grins. “I’m good with people.”

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras doesn’t have classes until the early afternoon, so he makes sure to tidy Courfeyrac’s apartment before he leaves – Courfeyrac himself still asleep, since he has the day off – and sticks a thank you note to the bench. He makes it to the apartment he shares with Combeferre a couple of hours before has to be at university, and plans to take a long shower, so long as Combeferre has already left. Enjolras is almost painfully tense – Grantaire hasn’t responded to his text yet, so he doesn’t know where he stands with him or Combeferre. He really hopes Combeferre isn’t still at the apartment.

Enjolras is about to unlock the door to the apartment when it opens, and Grantaire walks out of it. Enjolras stares at him, stunned. Grantaire doesn’t even blush, just meets Enjolras’ gaze evenly.

“Grantaire, about last night-“

Grantaire brushes past him. Halfway down the hall, he turns around and opens his mouth, as if to speak. Catching something in Enjolras’ expression, his lips seal together in a tight line. He turns around and leaves without a word.

“Grantaire!” Enjolras calls after him, but Grantaire is gone.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Enjolras_ : I want you to know that I didn’t apologise just because I care about Combeferre. I care about your feelings too, and I am truly sorry for what I said. I won’t make any excuses, because you deserve better than that. All I can offer are my apologies.

 

 _Grantaire_ : are you a real person i didnt realise people actually spoke like that

 

 _Grantaire:_ but seriously it’s fine i get it

 

 _Grantaire:_ you didnt say anything that wasnt true so

 

 _Enjolras:_ It’s not true, and it’s not fine. I don’t think of you like that.

 

 _Grantaire:_ well that makes one of us

 

* * *

 

 

 _Enjolras:_ Courf help

 

 _Enjolras:_  COURFEYRAC SERIOUSLY. I just caught R coming out of the apartment.

 

 _Enjolras:_ My brain is not dealing with this well Courfeyrac.

 

 _Enjolras:_ He’s really attractive too. Oh no.

 

 _Courfeyrac:_ I’m crying with laughter enj this is too good

 

 _Courfeyrac:_ seriously pls do something about that!!! they would both want to sleep with you for sure (i mean who wouldn’t) ;) ;) ;)

 

 _Enjolras:_ That text makes feel violated.

 

 _Enjolras_ : Okay not really but Courf seriously what do I do??

 

 _Enjolras:_ I have to get ready but I hope you realise this conversation is not over.

 

 _Enjolras:_ I WENT INTO COMBEFERRE’S ROOM LOOKING FOR MY JUMPER. THERE WAS SOMETHING RED UNDER THE BED. IT WAS NOT MY JUMPER. IT WAS ROPE.

 

 _Courfeyrac:_ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 _Courfeyrac:_ you want in on their kinky sex don’t you

 

 _Enjolras:_ You’re really not helping.

 

 _Enjolras:_ If I answer will you help me?

 

 _Courfeyrac:_ I mean I was going to help you anyway but this is way more interesting

 

* * *

 

 

“I might be a tiny bit jealous.”

Courfeyrac raises his eyebrows, looking at Enjolras over the top of his sunglasses. “Might?”

Enjolras doesn’t answer, fiddling with the few limp lettuce leaves left on his plate. Courfeyrac had agreed to meet him for lunch to help him figure out what his feelings were actually doing, and Enjolras has put off the conversation as long as possible.

“Honestly, E.” Courfeyrac says, with a dramatic eyeroll that is invisible behind his sunglasses but somehow still entirely obvious. “I came here at your request, do you want to talk about it or not?”

Enjolras grimaces. “Okay, then. I’m very jealous of both of them. I have been in love with Combeferre for an embarrassingly long time, and I’m very much attracted to Grantaire, from what I know of him.”

“We can make this work.” Courfeyrac says, nodding to himself. “You’ve just got to test the waters a bit. See what happens tonight, and we’ll figure it all out from there.”

“You’re the best.” Enjolras says.

Courfeyrac laughs. “I’m a meddling little shit, and you want the advice, which provides the perfect opportunity for me to step in. It’s win-win, as far as I’m concerned. Also, I’m definitely living vicariously through all of my friends’ relationships.”

“I amend my statement.” Enjolras says. “You’re the worst. Now, I have another lecture after this but you can come sit in on it and then help me figure out what to wear after, if you’d like.”

“ _Or_ ,” Courfeyrac says, “I can sit outside in the sun checking various social media platforms on the uni wireless and you can come fetch me after your lecture is finished.”

“Fair.” Enjolras says, and picks up his bag. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras feels ridiculous, dressed up in clothes that Courfeyrac helped him pick out. It’s too obvious that he’s trying to impress Combeferre and Grantaire. They’ll realise in a second, Enjolras is sure.

He strips off the too-tight jeans he saves for dates – not that he’s had any, but Courf made him buy them – and put on a more worn pair, tugs on the comfy jumper he’d been wearing earlier, and changes out his shoes for a pair of bed socks.

Enjolras glances at his reflection. He looked better before, but Combeferre knows what he usually wears, and would know in a second that something was up.

Panic starts to flutter in Enjolras’ chest. This was all a mistake. It was easy, sitting out in the sun with Courfeyrac, to think that Combeferre and Grantaire might one day be interested in him, but Enjolras hasn’t even been forgiven yet. What is he doing?

Enjolras sinks onto the edge of his bed and presses his feet into the carpet, feeling the ground against them, solid and reassuring.

He can’t do anything to put himself out there just yet, if at all. It’s better to rebuild his friendship with Combeferre, and perhaps befriend Grantaire.

“Stupid.” Enjolras says to himself, trying to shove the repetitive thoughts out of his head. There's nothing wrong with him wanting a relationship. _But why would they want to date him?_

Enjolras hears the key turning in the lock, and berates himself for getting into this, for being an anxious mess when he has to go and face Grantaire and Combeferre. For getting ahead of himself, when he doesn't know if he's even going to be able to build up a friendship with Grantaire. What if they're too different? What if Grantaire hates him?

 _They’re happy together_ , Enjolras tells himself, _you’d only ruin it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing Joly says about sex toys is true, if you're interested you should check out Erika Lynae's vid on toxic sex toys here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PT9QsSde4sQ (I'm sure there's a way to create a proper link but I have no idea how to do it)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> major warning for a panic attack

Combeferre looks unimpressed as Enjolras enters the living room, and Enjolras shrinks in on himself.

“Hi.” Enjolras says, at a loss of what else to say. He keeps finding his usual quicksilver tongue dull and heavy in the presence of these two.

Grantaire gazes at Enjolras, his expression inscrutable. Enjolras notices the phone in Grantaire’s hand, and hopes his own words, clutched in Grantaire’s fingers, were the right ones.

“Hey.” Grantaire says, eventually.

Combeferre rolls his eyes and leaves the room. “I’m making tea. You two can come find me when you stop being ridiculous.”

“He’s not very impressed with me.” Grantaire tells Enjolras in an undertone, and Enjolras finally feels the tension inside him crack.

“Grantaire-"

Grantaire shakes his head. “You’ve apologised already. I don’t need to hear it again.”

Enjolras has to make Grantaire understand. “I didn’t mean to say what I said, honestly. Sometimes my tongue just runs ahead and says things I don’t believe. But you don’t deserve explanations. I shouldn’t try to explain away my behaviour, all I can do is-"

“Christ, Enjolras.” Grantaire says, smiling a little, lighting up his eyes, golden-green and beautiful. “I really, honestly forgive you. Please stop apologising.”

“Okay.” Enjolras says in a small voice. “Sorry.”

Grantaire grins. “Enjolras.”

Combeferre comes back into the room, bearing a tray laden with various cups and teapots. “I realise I said to come and find me when you stop being ridiculous, but then I remembered I was talking about you two, and that’s basically never going to happen.”

Enjolras blushes. “I’m sorry for the position I put you in last night, Combeferre.”

“You were right, R.” Combeferre says, pouring out tea from a glass teapot, ghostly flowers swirling around. “Painfully sincere.”

Grantaire helps himself to a pot of some kind of strong black tea, making Enjolras grimace when he doesn’t add any milk or sugar. “What?”

“I don’t know how you can drink that.” Enjolras says, gravitating to a sickly-sweet fruit infusion Jehan gave him. “Also, we need to reach a tea consensus so we don’t have to wash thirty million dishes every time.”

“I’m not drinking  _that_.” Combeferre says, gesturing to Enjolras’ cup. “That is not tea.”

Grantaire laughs. “You’re drinking jasmine tea, Combeferre. I’m not sure that exactly counts either.”

“Hmph.” Combeferre narrows his eyes. “That’s the last time I stand up for you in an argument.”

Grantaire raises an eyebrow, looking to Enjolras for backup. “Tea ruins relationships, apparently. Be warned.”

“I’ll learn from your deeply unforgivable mistake.” Enjolras says gravely.

 

* * *

 

 

Grantaire and Combeferre settle down to watch some documentary about art that goes completely over Enjolras’ head, and he disappears to the kitchen to calm himself with the repetitive task of washing the pile of dishes from their tea break, and to unearth something from the freezer for their dinner.

Enjolras is consumed in the delicate task of balancing teapots in the dish rack when there’s a light touch at his elbow, and then Combeferre is resting his chin on Enjolras’ head.

“Thank you.” Combeferre murmurs, and Enjolras tries to ignore the sensation of having him so close.

Enjolras ducks out from under Combeferre and turns to face him. “You shouldn’t thank me for apologising.”

Combeferre smiles, a small twitch of his lips. “It’s not that. I… care a lot about him a lot, okay? And it means a lot to me that the two of you are at least trying to get along for my sake.”

“Of course.” Enjolras says, and he knows his responding smile doesn’t meet his eyes. Combeferre squeezes his shoulder, and then leaves to join Grantaire.

Enjolras doesn’t speak the words on the tip of his tongue.  _I care about him, too._  He just sighs instead, and picks up the dish brush.

 

* * *

 

 

The walls in the apartment are not as thick as Enjolras thought they were. He had no reason to know this before – both he and Combeferre are quiet in their habits, and neither had brought anyone around to the apartment before.

Enjolras has never been as uncomfortable and simultaneously turned on before. The vibrator stays in its place in his cupboard. He pulls out his headphones instead, and drowns out the moans with loud, angry music while he works on his next speech. He will get Grantaire to listen to him this time.

Grantaire and Combeferre finally seem to go to sleep sometime after one in the morning, but Enjolras can’t sleep. He’s too wound up, but he absolutely refuses to touch himself. He knows he would feel even worse if he did.

The annoying thing about sleep, Enjolras thinks, is that the harder you try to reach it the more elusive it is. His mind decides to snag on the only other thing that’s more painful as he tries to at least doze a little: Combeferre is happy with Grantaire. Before they got together, Enjolras thought he and Combeferre were heading toward something inevitable. And yet, Combeferre is so much happier with Grantaire than he ever was with just Enjolras around.

Enjolras scrunches his eyes closed against the hot sting of tears. He only hurts his friends, and he’s only an inconvenience to them. He considers texting Courfeyrac, who had said he wanted Enjolras to talk to him whenever he needed to. But it’s approaching two in the morning – albeit at a sluggish pace – and Enjolras doesn’t want to wake him up. That would just prove everything Enjolras is wondering about himself.

Enjolras knows he’s getting better – it’s been a long time since he’s felt this bad – but it’s too late. Combeferre has Grantaire now, and now that Enjolras has come to term with his own feelings, Combeferre is no longer interested.

Enjolras sits up and turns on the light. He’s been paying too much attention to Combeferre recently, which is a waste. He grabs his laptop and starts to read over the lines he’d written, editing ruthlessly despite his aching eyes. He’s spent enough time focusing on his own feelings, but there are things that are more important. He needs to dedicate more time to Les Amis. That’s a valuable, productive use of his energy. Pining over someone unavailable is pointless. Courfeyrac will be disappointed, but Enjolras wonders if that’s just because of Courfeyrac’s own emotional investment in the situation.

_Enough about that_ , Enjolras reminds himself,  _time to get to work. You’ve been neglecting the important things recently._

 

* * *

 

 

There are deep bags under Enjolras’ eyes when he rises early the next morning, and his hands are shaking from the caffeine he’s ingested by the time Combeferre surfaces.

“Morning.” Enjolras says brightly, clenching his hands behind his back.

Combeferre grins. “Good morning.”

Combeferre has been late waking up, and doesn’t know that Enjolras has already had several cups of coffee this morning, or that Enjolras leaves the house without eating breakfast.

_It’s not his place to worry about you._  Enjolras reminds himself, although he does make sure to shove a muesli bar into his bag.  _You’re an adult, your friends don’t have to keep an eye on you._

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that Combeferre didn’t notice.

 

* * *

 

 

The pattern continues for a few weeks before it reaches a breaking point – Enjolras downplays it when talking to his therapist, which he knows he shouldn’t do, but he needs his work to cope – and Enjolras faints on the bus to university one morning. He only really blacks out for a couple of seconds, but it’s enough that someone calls Enjolras’ emergency contact, Combeferre, and Enjolras is forced to spend the week in bed. After a check-up, it’s clear that Enjolras’ immune system has been compromised from his skipped meals and sleep deprivation, and a virus that would usually make him feel a bit unwell for a few days instead quite literally knocked him out.

“I’m so sorry.” Combeferre says. He’s made soup and is making sure Enjolras eats it. “I should have noticed. I should have been there for you.”

“Combeferre.” Enjolras says, catching Combeferre’s hand in his own. “The only one who’s responsible for this is me.”

Combeferre still looks sad, and Enjolras doesn’t know how to make this better.

“Can you see why you need to take care of yourself now?” Combeferre says, sitting on the edge of the bed.

_Oh. Not sadness. Worry._

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras says, feeling so small, tucked under his doona, Combeferre at his side.

“Don’t be sorry.” Combeferre says, and presses a kiss to the back of Enjolras’ hand. “Don’t worry about us, just focus on getting better.”

Enjolras grimaces. “I’ve never been any good at that.”

“No time like the present.” Combeferre says, and finally smiles. “You’ve got plenty of time to think about it. You’re taking care of yourself for the next few days, no arguments. We can handle Les Amis, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Okay.” Enjolras says, and tries to convince himself that it actually is okay. “I can do that.” He’s not sure if he can, but he can at least pretend. He’s good at that.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Enj- wait, what are you doing up? You’re meant to be in bed.”

Enjolras looks up at Grantaire and glares. He wraps his blanket a little tighter around his shoulders, and tries to look as though he actually has any dignity, clad in the cat pyjamas Joly and Bossuet gave him for his last birthday. “Combeferre isn’t home at the moment, and I kind of figured it was better to get up and get some water than rest and dehydrate.”

Grantaire laughed. “You must be feeling better, if you’re snarking.”

Enjolras doesn’t deign to respond, pretending that filling up his drink bottle is taking all of his concentration.

“So where’s ‘Ferre?” Grantaire asks, after a pause.

Enjolras glances up at the clock. “He was meant to be back half an hour ago, he’ll be here soon. You know how much he hates to be late.”

“Cool, I’ll just-" Grantaire jerks his head in the direction of the couch, “Put the TV on, or something.”

“I’ll come watch with you.” Enjolras says, grabbing a packet of painkillers and his glass of water, and settling on one corner of the couch, leaving plenty of space between him and Grantaire.

They end up watching some quiz show, but Enjolras’ head is hurting too much for him to pay much attention, despite the painkillers. Grantaire mumbles an answer every now and then – always correct – but it’s mostly quiet and subdued between them.

“Where  _is_  he?” Grantaire wonders once the program ends. “I might give him a call.”

Enjolras shrugs, ignoring the way his heart is pounding.  _Something is wrong._  “Go ahead.”

The phone goes to message bank, and Grantaire hangs up.

“It’ll be fine.” Grantaire says, catching sight of Enjolras’ face. “He’s probably caught up talking to someone, or his phone died. It’ll be fine.”

“You already said that.” Enjolras mutters, but doesn’t push the point. They sit there in quiet, until what had been the quiet patter of rain grows into a roaring downpour.

“Do you think-?”

Hail starts to pound against the windows.

“Enjolras, it’s alright.” Grantaire says. “He’s not that late.”

Enjolras nods, but his eyelids are fluttering. “He hates to be late at all. Something’s wrong, ‘Aire.”

Grantaire offers Enjolras a small smile. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”

Enjolras just nods again. He’s still blinking rapidly, and his chest begins to rise and fall far faster than it should.

“Hey, Enjolras, hey,” Grantaire shuffles across the couch. “Can I touch you?”

Enjolras nods once more. Grantaire grips his hand tight, and he’s saying things. Enjolras doesn’t know what Grantaire is saying, all he can think of is that it’s raining and hailing outside and Combeferre is stuck out there and Combeferre is late but Combeferre is never late and  _oh God, something terrible must have happened_.

“…Enjolras?”

Enjolras collapses onto his side, half-sprawled across Grantaire’s lap as he hyperventilates. His tears stain Grantaire’s jeans, but he barely notices, just caught up in the twisting, circular repetition of his panic, made real in the unstoppable motion of his lungs, the way his head spins, the way his stomach churns.

Grantaire’s fingers running through his hair are the first thing outside of his thoughts that Enjolras notices. Grantaire is murmuring something repetitive, but repetitive in a soothing way, not in the horrible inescapable pattern of Enjolras’ thoughts.

Tears are still running down Enjolras’ face, he’s still shaking, but he manages to force his lips into words: “My head hurts.”

“I know.” Grantaire says, and his fingers are gentle at Enjolras’ temple. “It’s alright, Enjolras.”

Enjolras nods, too tired and in pain and worried to be embarrassed that he’s lying across Grantaire, and just lets himself lean into the warmth, syncing his breaths to the deliberate movement of Grantaire’s chest.

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras is so comfortable, curled up around something soft and warm that smells like paint and peppermint chewing gum. He shifts, pressing closer to the warmth, and his pillow tenses.

Enjolras lets out a dissatisfied little noise, and it relaxes again. Better. His pillow reaches up and starts to stroke his hair, and Enjolras drifts back into sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“That’s adorable.”

Enjolras grimaces. Why are people talking so loudly? He’s trying to sleep. The voices quiet as he stirs. Better. He relaxes back against his pillow.

The voices continue conversing, low and soft, and Enjolras sighs happily. They sound so nice, the nearest one rough and husky, the other smoother.

The couch dips under Enjolras, and he lets out a whine of discontent, but then there’s warmth on his other side, and a blanket is spread over him.

“Thank you.” Enjolras mumbles, the words slurred slightly from sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras wakes sprawled across both Combeferre and Grantaire, and immediately freezes. They’re both still sound asleep, Combeferre’s mouth slightly open, Grantaire’s face clear and completely at ease for the first time Enjolras has ever seen.

Enjolras gets up, extricating himself from the others slowly, careful not to wake them. Grantaire’s expression creases a little, then smooths, and Enjolras breathes a sigh of relief. That could have been a potentially embarrassing situation.

Enjolras dresses slowly – he’s still tired and not quite well yet – in a pair of old, worn jeans and a comfy jumper, tying up his sleep-messed hair. Deciding he looks presentable enough, and feels almost well enough, he sneaks out of the apartment.

Even the short trip to the café down the street wears Enjolras out, and he wonders if this was a good idea.  _Too late_ , he thinks to himself, while waiting in line. With takeaway cups of coffee – Enjolras forgot the reusable cups, which just proves he’s not feeling better yet – and a bag full of muffins and pastries, he makes his way back to the apartment, taking the stairs slowly so as not to worsen his headache.

Thankfully, Grantaire and Combeferre are still half-asleep by the time Enjolras returns, awake enough to stir and perk up at the smell of coffee, but not awake enough that they would have noticed his absence and worried.

“Morning.” Enjolras says, unloading breakfast onto the coffee table.

Grantaire blinks at Enjolras blearily. “Morning.”

Combeferre just groans, brightening a little when Enjolras hands him one of the coffees.

Only after they’ve all finished their coffees and started on the food does Combeferre actually speak.

“I’m really sorry about last night. My phone died, and all of the taxis going past were full because of the rain.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Enjolras says, “it was just me overreacting. I’m sorry for worrying you both.”

Grantaire, surprisingly, is the one who starts to shake his head. “God, don’t apologise for that. Nobody ever wants to have a panic attack. I’m just glad I was here so you didn’t have to go through it by yourself.”

Enjolras drops his gaze to the danish he’s been pulling apart, layer by layer. “So am I. Thank you for being here. I know we haven’t got along that well in the past, but I really do want to be friends.”

Grantaire grins. “Sounds good to me. Especially if it means more of this.” He gestures to the food.

“Don’t get too used to it.” Enjolras warns.

“Maybe…” Combeferre pauses, tentative, “Maybe we could make this a regular thing. Us hanging out and getting breakfast together.”

Grantaire nods, and he and Combeferre turn to face Enjolras.

“I’d like that.” Enjolras says, and feels something lightening in his chest. They obviously want him around. Even if it’s not romantic, they still enjoy his company. Surely that can be enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another warning for a panic attack, although it's not as detailed as last time

“Oh. Grantaire. You’re here.” Enjolras looks up as Grantaire follows Combeferre into the Musain’s backroom, biting his lip and fiddling with the cuffs of his jumper.

“Yep.” Grantaire says, and waves. “Hi.”

“Sorry-“ Enjolras says, after blinking at him for a long moment. “It’s nice to see you here, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Grantaire offers Enjolras a small, hesitant smile. “I thought I’d give it another shot.”

“That’s great!” Enjolras says, as though Grantaire’s presence hasn’t thrown him off completely. “Well, take a seat, we’ll be getting started soon.”

Combeferre pulls Enjolras into a quick hug on the way past, a whispered _thank you_ all he says, and then he settles into the seat between Grantaire and Jehan. Grantaire is already chatting to Bossuet and Joly, and has a bottle of beer set in front of him. Enjolras is not going to comment.

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras is trying so hard not to comment. But Grantaire is so clearly drunk, as is Bossuet, and Joly is certainly tipsy – Enjolras had no idea Joly could hold his alcohol so well – and Musichetta is laughing as Joly uses his entire stock of pickup lines on her and Bossuet.

They’re all distracted, and while Grantaire hasn’t been actively antagonistic, his presence has apparently encouraged their friends to drink more than they usually would, making them useless at contributing to their mental health awareness campaign. Everyone is distracted, catching on to the mood of the group in the corner, and Enjolras gives up much earlier than meetings usually end.

“Enjolras!” Grantaire calls, as the man in question is reviewing the meeting’s minutes. “The glorious leader himself. Come, have a drink!”

“No, thank you.” Enjolras says, his voice edging on frosty.

Grantaire is undeterred. “Then I will have a drink for you, and you may continue your unblemished existence.”

Enjolras freezes, and Combeferre is already trying to distract Grantaire, to no avail.

“So far from us mortals, up on his pedestal.” Grantaire says, his cheeks flushed. He is speaking loud enough for everyone to hear him. “Like a statue, carved with such skill, but so cold. Such fine marble.”

Enjolras feels close to marble right now, his blood frozen in his veins. He shuts his laptop carefully, his movements precise as he stands, holding up a hand when Courfeyrac tries to approach him. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

He leaves, his hands shaking – _not such a statue, then_ – and walks out into the cold night air, uncaring of the fact that he left his jacket in the café. He doesn’t want to go back in there, and have to face any of them, whether distantly reverent or worried.

He ducks into the alley behind the Musain to have the panic attack that’s clawing under his skin, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hold it in all the way home, and that’s where Courfeyrac finds him.

Courfeyrac drops to the ground next to him and holds out his hand. Enjolras grips the lifeline as he gasps and shakes, until he’s just crying against Courfeyrac, crouched on the filthy ground, surrounded by rubbish.

“You’re human.” Courfeyrac murmurs, a hand stroking Enjolras’ hair. “You’re the most human person I know. That’s why it hurts so much.”

Enjolras clings to the words like he clings to Courfeyrac, until they hear the crowd of their friends walk past some time later.

Courfeyrac helps him up, and they make their way to Courfeyrac’s apartment, where Enjolras is tugged straight to bed, stopping only to change into pyjamas.

In the dark and warmth, Enjolras feels slightly better, only able to see the silhouette of Courfeyrac but able to feel the way he is held to Courfeyrac’s chest.

“I wanted to be that statue for so long.” Enjolras whispers. It’s easier to say the words when he can’t see Courfeyrac’s reaction. “But I don’t want to anymore.”

“You aren’t a statue, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac says, his voice low and comforting. “You have always been so alive. A statue couldn’t care like you do.”

“I care so much it hurts. I used to want it to stop, but pulling away only made it worse.” Enjolras confides.

Courfeyrac’s hand finds its way back into Enjolras’ hair. “Trust us to lighten the burden. We care, too. And you’re part of that.”

 

* * *

 

Enjolras wakes to his phone ringing. It’s Combeferre.

“Hello?”

“Enjolras.” Combeferre sounds so relieved. “Are you okay?”

Enjolras closes his eyes. Combeferre cares. _They all do_ , he reminds himself. “I don’t know. I will be.”

“Come home when you’re ready.” Combeferre says. He doesn’t try to apologise on Grantaire’s behalf, for which Enjolras is grateful. “And let me know if I can do anything.”

“Don’t treat me any differently.” Enjolras says. “I just want things to be normal.”

“Okay.” Combeferre sounds like he wants to say something else, but he holds his tongue. “Let me know if you’re going to be home for dinner, I’ll pick up some takeaway.”

“I’ll be there.” Enjolras promises. “Will Grantaire?”

“Only if you want him to be.”

Enjolras sighs. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Enjolras.”

“It’s _fine_ , ‘Ferre. I’ll see you tonight.”

This time it’s Combeferre’s turn to sigh. But all he says is, “See you then,” and Enjolras hangs up. He can’t help but feel he said something wrong, but he just wants things to be normal again.

Whatever _normal_ looks like.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m so sorry,” is the first thing Grantaire says when Enjolras sets foot in the apartment.

Enjolras sighs and rubs his temples. “It’s fine, Grantaire. Just leave it.”

“Right.” Grantaire says. “Sorry.”

Combeferre just pulls Enjolras into a hug. Enjolras feels a little awkward, with Grantaire standing there, but still presses his face against Combeferre’s shoulder. Or, at least, as close as he can get to Combeferre’s shoulder. Combeferre is really tall, and Enjolras is not.

“Um.” Grantaire is hovering, when Enjolras pulls away. “We got Indian.”

“Great. Thanks.” Enjolras says, without enthusiasm.

“Enjolras-“ Combeferre is cut off with a shake of Enjolras’ head.

“Let’s eat.” Enjolras says, and busies himself with setting the table. He almost bumps into Grantaire when he turns away from a cupboard, and Grantaire looks so terrified that Enjolras snaps.

“I’m not going to break, I’m not made of porcelain. Or _marble_.”

Grantaire winces. “Fair call. Sorry.”

“Stop apologising.” Enjolras grits out. “Seriously, it’s starting to get a little annoying.”

Grantaire looks like he’s going to apologise again, but snaps his mouth shut.

Enjolras knows it’s rude, but he brushes past Grantaire and starts taking the lids off the containers of food.

Grantaire’s face is a blank mask all throughout dinner, and Enjolras wonders what insecurities of his own Grantaire is hiding. “I’m sorry.” Enjolras says, after they have been eating for several minutes in silence. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

“You’re just pissed off.” Grantaire says, the slightest hint of a smile peeking out from the carefully cultivated blankness.

“Exactly.” Enjolras says.

Grantaire just shrugs. “It’s cool. But you don’t have to say it’s fine when I apologise. It’s obviously not.”

“It’s not your fault.” Enjolras says, fiddling with the rice on his plate. “It just hit home really hard. There’s no way you would have known.”

“I’m a jerk half the time I’m drunk.” Grantaire says bluntly. “I was bound to say something that would have offended someone. I should have known better, and I know it doesn’t make it okay but I really am sorry for hurting you.”

Enjolras can feel himself softening. “I forgive you.”

Combeferre, who has obviously been trying to be inconspicuous, relaxes visibly.

“Thank you.” Grantaire says, holding eye contact with Enjolras for a long moment, until Enjolras becomes uncomfortable and glances away.

 

* * *

 

 

“I met an _angel_ today.”

Enjolras looks up as Marius bursts into the backroom in the middle of Feuilly’s presentation. Feuilly just grins at him and picks up where he was interrupted.

Marius keeps going on about this girl, gossiping with Grantaire and Joly at the back of the room. Feuilly finishes his speech, and Enjolras takes his place at the head of the room.

“Marius.” Enjolras’ voice is sharp, and he watches as the blood drains from Marius’ face. “You have already interrupted us. Surely your personal life can wait until the end of the meeting.”

“Enjolras.” Joly says, rolling his eyes. “This is _love_ , it’s very important.”

Enjolras frowns. “More important than our work?”

“If you had only _seen_ her.” Marius says, his voice disturbingly dreamy. “You would understand. You would understand if you had ever fallen in love.”

Enjolras flinches a little, something that would appear as an irritated twitch to someone who doesn’t know him well. “No single person is more important than humanity as a whole.”

“Lighten up, Enjolras.” Jehan says. “We’re only a student activist group.”

“That well may be,” Enjolras says, “But I didn’t realise it meant so little to all of you.”

Courfeyrac is quick to intervene. “We’re all here because we’re dedicated to this, Enjolras. But we’re allowed to be interested in other things.”

“I know that,” Enjolras tells him, “But this is a meeting. This is time we’ve set aside to help people, forgive me for being irritated when someone tries to derail it.”

“You’re always so serious,” Jehan says, their voice sad, “You can afford to let go of things once in a while.”

Enjolras thinks of the hours he pours into their work, the sleep he loses before a protest, the thoughts that are always eating away at him. “I can’t.” He needs to have the control over this, at least. Even if he can’t control anything else in his life, he can always be counted on to lead Les Amis.

Bossuet frowns. “Enjolras-“

“I can’t let go of it.” Enjolras says, his voice starting to shake. “This is all I’m good for.”

Combeferre immediately makes his way to the front of the room, but Enjolras is already collapsing into the nearest chair and burying his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras whispers, as Combeferre drops to his knees in front of him. “God, I can’t do any of this right. I’m so fucked up, ‘Ferre.”

“It’s okay, Enjolras.” Combeferre replies. “We pushed you too far, it’s not your fault. We know how much you care about all of us, nobody was doubting that. We just want you to be happy, too.”

Enjolras lets out a watery laugh. “How can I be happy, when I’m always battling with myself?”

“Let us in. We can help.” Courfeyrac crouches down next to Combeferre. “Remember what we were talking about the other day? We all love you. Let us lighten the load for you. Please.”

Enjolras nods, and wipes at his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Combeferre’s voice is infinitely gentle. “We didn’t realise how much pressure you were putting yourself under. That’s something we can help you with, now that we know. Okay?”

“Okay.” Enjolras says, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac make their ways to the chairs either side of him.

“Our dear leader has been too hard on himself of late.” Courfeyrac says, as though the rest of Les Amis weren’t eavesdropping on the whispered conversation at the front of the room. “So we need to be more vigilant in our division of labour. Enjolras, will you get out your plans for the next few projects?”

Enjolras pulls up the documents, feeling ashamed as Courfeyrac’s face falls when he sees the amount of work Enjolras had planned for himself.

“Okay, so. God, Enjolras, how are you even functioning?” Courfeyrac says. “No wonder you’re stressed. You could have said something, you know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Combeferre reaches across and squeezes his hand. “We just want you to be happy.”

_This makes me happy_ , Enjolras considers saying, but it’s not entirely true. There’s been far too much work for him to do recently, and he’s been almost constantly exhausted. He can already feel the burden lifting, and he is hit with a sudden rush of affection for his friends.

“So,” Courfeyrac says, scanning the screen, “This is going to be our collaborative plan of action…”

 

* * *

 

 

Cosette comes to the next meeting, and Enjolras understands Marius, for once. He’s kind of in love with her, too. She’s one of the gentlest, kindest people he’s ever had the pleasure to meet, but she has no qualms about calmly calling out Enjolras, who is shocked silent for a full minute, until he grins and asks her how to be better. Cosette smiles too, as she corrects what he said, and all the while Marius watches on in awe.

She also bakes the most delicious cupcakes. Courfeyrac looks like he’s going to cry when he takes his first bite.

“I know how you feel.” Courfeyrac laments, once they’ve made their way to Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment. Grantaire and Combeferre went out to the cinema after the meeting, and Courfeyrac has joined Enjolras at home to watch _Legally Blonde_ , the inspiration for both Courfeyrac and Bahorel’s law careers, short-lived as the latter was _._

“How so?” Enjolras asks, pouring popcorn into a bowl. Courfeyrac grabs a handful and eats it while Enjolras waits for an answer, eyebrows raised.

“With Combeferre and Grantaire. But not with _them_ , with Marius and Cosette.” He pulls a face.

“You like Marius?” Enjolras asks. That’s something he has completely missed. _“Marius?”_

“He’s very sweet.” Courfeyrac says.

Enjolras wrinkles his nose. “But… _Marius.”_

“How have you not noticed? Honestly, I thought you were one of my best friends.” Courfeyrac pouts, fluttering his lashes at Enjolras.

“Because you never _told_ me.”

“And you have the romantic sensitivity of a brick when it comes to people you’re not interested in yourself.”

“Thanks.” Enjolras says dryly, but he’s not offended. “I totally get the Cosette thing, though.”

“Is she going to have to fight you off?”

“God, no.” Enjolras shudders. “I have no romantic feelings for her, but I might love her a little.”

“I feel that feel, babe. But how do you deal with being jealous of both of them while also being overwhelmingly affected by every cute little thing they do together?”

Enjolras shrugs. “Combeferre and Grantaire are much less lovey-dovey than Marius and Cosette.”

“They’re kind of disgustingly cute about it, aren’t they?”

“Or just outright disgusting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Triumphantdisaster left a lovely comment on the last chapter but I was trying to fix something with the chapter and your comment got deleted, I'm sorry! It was super nice of you and I appreciated it heaps, so thanks!!


	5. Chapter 5

“You could have said something, you know.”

Enjolras is sitting between Feuilly and Bahorel on their couch, a blanket thrown over them all while they watch _Bring it on_ , the inspiration for Bahorel’s stint as a cheerleader. Bahorel really needs to stop being influenced by movies _._ He still maintains that his thighs looked excellent in the cheerleading skirt – there had been a separate uniform for men, but Bahorel had refused to wear it – and Enjolras knows for a fact that Feuilly sometimes makes him put it on for him. Enjolras hadn’t really wanted to know that piece of information.“I know now.” He says, grateful to take up any conversation that’s not about Feuilly admiring Bahorel’s thighs.

“There’s that, at least,” Bahorel sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Enjolras says. “It’s nobody’s fault, except perhaps my own. But nobody’s going to be happy if I blame myself for it, so let’s just acknowledge that I was doing way too much, and move on. You guys are all helping now, it’s cool.”

They lapse into silence, at least until Bahorel starts cheering along with the movie and Feuilly throws a cushion at his head.

“Don’t get into a relationship.” Feuilly says, grinning. “It’s the worst.”

“Excuse you, monsieur.” Bahorel reaches across Enjolras to punch Feuilly on the arm. Lightly, Enjolras hopes. “Just for that, I’m not washing the dishes tonight.”

“You _monster_.”

Enjolras laughs at them. “Do you have to flirt over the top of me?”

“Well, you could always join us.”

“I am not having sex with you, Bahorel.” _Please don’t bring up the cheerleading outfit again._

Bahorel looks affronted. “But you would with Feuilly?”

Enjolras considers Feuilly for a long moment, before laughing again. “Nope, sorry. I love you both dearly, but I’m not sleeping with you.”

“You’re missing out.” Bahorel says. Feuilly punches him this time.

“He does rock that skirt.” Feuilly says dreamily, and Enjolras really doesn’t want to know any more. Bahorel laughs and blows Feuilly a kiss.

Enjolras wants desperately to have what they have, such an easy relationship. They are both so in love, but they will always, above anything else, be best friends.

He still doesn't want to hear about their sex life.

 

* * *

 

 

“We’re still on for tomorrow morning, right?”

Enjolras rubs at his eyes and looks up from his laptop. “Huh?”

“Breakfast with me and Grantaire? We were going to try out that new café?”

“Oh, right.” Enjolras’ head is still stuck in the essay he’s writing. “Yeah.”

“Great. I’m staying at Grantaire’s tonight, we’ll meet you there?”

“Uh-huh.” Enjolras nods.

“Bye, Enjolras.” Combeferre is waiting, standing next to him, and Enjolras looks up.

“Hm? Oh, right. Have fun.”

“Thanks.” Combeferre says, and is gone with a kiss dropped to the top of Enjolras’ head. Enjolras glances up as Combeferre goes, then snaps his gaze down to his computer once he realises he’s staring at the closed door.

“Focus, Enjolras.” He tells himself.

He soon loses himself in the essay again, only to be startled out of his focus by his phone vibrating at some point later. Enjolras doesn’t know how much later – he’s long since lost track of the time.

 

_Combeferre:_ Don’t forget to eat!!

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but saves his essay and makes his way to the kitchen. There’s a container in the fridge with _eat me_ written on it in messy handwriting. Not Combeferre’s, then.

Enjolras feels a burst of warmth in his chest. Grantaire must have been here and made something for him. It’s nice to know Grantaire was thinking of him in some way, at least.

The container turns out to be filled with vegetarian moussaka, and Enjolras has to suppress a moan as he shovels it into his mouth.

 

_Enjolras:_ That’s it, I’m hiring your boyfriend as my personal chef.

 

_Combeferre:_ At least you’d eat regularly. And he says that he’ll consider it as a career option since his art degree is useless. (I might have pointed out the whole tattoo artist thing)

 

_Enjolras:_ He’s so talented though??

 

_Combeferre:_  You’re preaching to the choir here. But I’d better actually go pay attention to my boyfriend!! Go take a bath or something, you’ve been working on your essay for like 4 hours straight by now.

 

_Enjolras:_ FINE.

 

_Enjolras:_ But I’m not going to enjoy it.

 

_Enjolras:_ Just kidding, I’m going to marry Jehan for their Lush staff discount because this bath bomb is amazing.

 

_Grantaire:_ STOP TEXTING MY BOYFRIEND I’M TRYING TO BE ROMANTIC

 

_Grantaire:_ ((please))

 

_Grantaire:_ ((I can’t compete w/ u))

 

_Grantaire:_ also are you sending him texts while naked because I want in on that action

 

_Grantaire:_ This is Combeferre. I’m sorry about my boyfriend.

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras’ alarm goes off in the morning, and he snoozes it immediately. It’s Sunday; he can sleep. Ten minutes later, he is annoyed by the noise his phone is causing, and once again snoozes his alarm. This goes on twice more, before Enjolras sits bolt upright.

“Shit!” He exclaims, grabbing yesterday’s jeans off the floor and a cleanish jumper, which he drop on the bathroom floor. He’s meant to meet Grantaire and Combeferre in twenty minutes, and he needs to wash his hair because it’s a greasy mess. He jumps into the shower before it’s heated up properly, squealing at the cold water, and ducks his head under the spray, only to find out that it’s heated up to a painful temperature.

“Fuck!”

Enjolras manages to get shampoo in his eye, causing him to curse again. He knows his hair is going to be so dry, not having had enough time for the conditioner to sink in, and he grimaces as he pulls out the hairdryer.

Then someone knocks on the bathroom door and Enjolras drops the hairdryer in the (thankfully empty) sink.

“Yeah?” Enjolras calls out.

“You decent?”

Enjolras glances at his reflection. Combeferre has seen his top surgery scars before – they do share an apartment, after all, it was bound to happen, even if they hadn’t invaded Courfeyrac’s parents’ pool – and there’s a towel slung around his hips. “Decent enough.”

Combeferre ducks his head into the bathroom. “Hey. We called you, just making sure you remembered because you were pretty caught up in your essay last night when I reminded you, but you didn’t answer, so we thought you might’ve been asleep. We brought breakfast to you.”

Enjolras grins. “You’re the best.”

“I know. Join us when you’re ready.” Combeferre says, and shuts the door behind him.

Enjolras dresses quickly, throwing his damp hair in a braid. “Sorry about that.” He says, ducking his head as he approaches Grantaire, who is unpacking fresh berries, fancy granola, and expensive yoghurt.

“All good.” Grantaire shrugs, and hands Enjolras a bowl. “We were just worried about you.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s worried about me.”

“Yourself included?” Combeferre asks, appearing from the kitchen, precariously balancing three mugs of coffee.

Enjolras scrunches his nose. “Depends in what way you mean it. I’ve had quite enough of people asking me how I feel at the moment, though. And I haven’t even had this fortnight’s therapy appointment.”

Grantaire snorts into his coffee. “I feel your pain.”

Enjolras blinks at him. He hadn’t expected that, but now he thinks about Grantaire sitting in the back of the Musain drinking, and the jokes he sometimes makes that allude to him being useless. _That explains a lot, actually_ , Enjolras realises. He looks over at Grantaire, about to offer him a tentative smile, only to find Grantaire already looking at him, the way Grantaire sometimes looks at art. Or Combeferre. Enjolras feels his stomach sink, and glances at Combeferre.

Combeferre is looking down at his breakfast, stirring it around with little interest, only to jump a little, his eyes widening for a second. His face unfolds as Grantaire’s foot does _something_ under the table, and Enjolras excuses himself.

“I’ve got to finish that essay.” Enjolras says, with less enthusiasm than he might have once mustered.

“Enjolras-“ Combeferre starts.

“Take a break, I know. I’m going to yoga with Joly and Musichetta this afternoon. I think Bahorel was going to tag along, too.”

“Not Bossuet?” Grantaire asks.

“You really don’t want to know what happened when he joined in last time.” Enjolras says, and winces at the memory. “He’s banned now.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re wearing those out?” Grantaire asks. His eyes don’t flicker to Enjolras’ butt. They don’t.

Enjolras looks down at his leggings. “Yes?”

“Well, whoever is behind you in yoga is going to have a lot of fun.” Grantaire says, his face reddening as soon as he realises what he’s said. “Shit, I mean- They’re just really tight. I mean-“

Enjolras holds up a hand. “Please stop talking.”

“Definitely. I’m making this worse for myself, aren’t I?”

Enjolras nods at him. “Yeah, you are.”

“I’ll just… leave…” Grantaire says, edging out of the room.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras says, already opening the door. “I’m literally leaving right now. And it’s fine. Really. Just… don’t do it again.”

Grantaire is still red. “That’s so not going to be a problem. I’m never speaking again. Ever.”

“Grantaire.”

“Yep. Shutting up now.” Grantaire says, and gives Enjolras an awkward little wave that might have been a salute. Enjolras isn’t really sure. He’s too focused on getting the hell out of there.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, honey.” Musichetta says, as soon as she sees Enjolras’ face. “What happened?”

Enjolras makes a strangled noise and uses the excuse of stretching to bury his face against the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

The week goes past in a blur of Enjolras catching up with his friends – they’re all eager to provide breaks for him – as well as uni assignments, and his severely decreased Amis workload. The meeting goes off without a hitch, everyone taking turns to share their work on the current campaign.

Combeferre holds up a DVD, looking at Enjolras hopefully despite the fact that Enjolras is packing his backpack. “It’s Friday, remember?”

“Fuck.” Enjolras drops his bag. “I’m so sorry. I made plans with Courfeyrac. I’m an awful friend.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re not an awful friend.” Combeferre says, reaching out to place a hand on Enjolras’ shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“You should come with me.” Enjolras offers. “Courfeyrac would never mind.”

“I can’t.” Combeferre says. “I have my first shift at the hospital tomorrow.”

“Shit.” Enjolras scrubs his hand over his face. “I should have remembered.”

“It’s fine.” Combeferre says, even though it’s obvious it’s not. It’s not okay between them, and Enjolras feels awful. Everyone has been encouraging him to focus on himself, so has been, but that means he’s left Combeferre behind him.

“I’m staying in.” Enjolras says.

“No.” Combeferre says, but his fingers tighten on Enjolras’ shirt sleeve. “You promised Courfeyrac you’d hang out with him.”

“He’s your friend, too. Why don’t we have him over here?”

Combeferre nods. “I’d like that. It’s been too long since it’s been just the three of us.”

“Good.” Enjolras says, pulling his phone out and sending Courfeyrac a quick text. “Now, you can tell me what’s wrong while we wait for Courf to get here.”

Combeferre lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m just tired.”

“Whatever’s wrong, you can tell me.” Enjolras says. “I know I’ve been leaning on you a lot, but I want to be here for you as well.”

“It’s stupid.”

Enjolras nudges Combeferre lightly. “It’s not, if it hurts you.”

“I thought maybe I’d done something wrong.” Combeferre says, voice small. Enjolras has never heard him sound so unsure of himself. “Just… you’ve been hanging out with everyone else so much. I started wondering if there was some reason you were avoiding me. Something wrong with me.”

Enjolras leans against him. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re amazing, ‘Ferre. I just don’t want to become dependent on you. That wouldn’t be healthy, and it wouldn’t be fair on you. I know in the past I’ve relied on you a lot, and I’m trying to relieve the burden a little.”

“You’re not a burden.” Combeferre says.

Enjolras smiles. “I know.”

“And it’s just…” Combeferre’s eyes scrunch closed. “You and Grantaire. I was a little jealous.”

_Of me or him?_ Enjolras wants to ask, but he knows that the answer is himself. Combeferre wouldn’t be jealous of Grantaire spending time with Enjolras. “You don’t need to be. Neither of us would do that to you.”

“But there is something there?”

Enjolras sighs. “There was something between us, too, but nothing happened. Should Grantaire be worried about that?” It’s the first time either of them have ever talked about it.

There’s something indecipherable in Combeferre’s eyes. Enjolras thinks it might be something sad, but Combeferre is excellent at hiding his emotions when he wants to. “No.”

Enjolras smiles humourlessly. “Of course not.”

They both flinch, each too caught up in their own thoughts to notice the other. Then Courfeyrac arrives, and their masks are put back in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm sorry.
> 
> I'm writing the last chapter at the moment (it's more of an epilogue than anything, so happy things will happen in the next few chapters!!), so updates should be every few days as I revise and edit each chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd update every few days, but I finished writing this fic on Friday night, and the very same night my computer crashed (I'd also spent that day writing - and finishing - an entirely new fic that I was really happy with, and editing at least 3 other fics I was planning to upload). I had to get my hard drive replaced, so I lost about 100k words (or more) of fic on my laptop, since I hadn't backed any of it up, including the last few chapters of this fic. Thankfully, I got my computer repaired and I got it back last night, and I spent last night and this morning writing this chapter again so I could upload it. The next few chapters might take a little while to get uploaded, since I have to write them all again. At least I know basically what I'd written, so it shouldn't take *too* long.  
> So this is a reminder from your friendly neighbourhood fic writer: back up your work!!

 

“Thanks Apollo.”

Enjolras looks up at Grantaire’s face, almost spilling the cup of coffee he’s handing Grantaire. “What did you just call me?”

“Uh…” Grantaire rubbed the back of his neck with the hand not holding his coffee. “Apollo?”

Enjolras blinks at him. “As in the god?”

“Yeah?”

“Right.” Enjolras takes a deep breath, and grabs his own coffee. “Okay.”

He leaves the room before Grantaire can say another word, and collapses onto his bed, barely missing covering himself and his sheets with scalding coffee.

“Fuck.”

There’s no way Enjolras is going to be able to concentrate on his politics essay. He’d planned to take a break out in the living room with Grantaire, to provide him with some company - Combeferre is currently holed up in his room studying for his philosophy test, but has invited Grantaire over for dinner - but there’s no way he’s going to face him right now.

Apollo.

“Fuck.” Enjolras repeats, for good measure.

He’s not looking forward to dealing with this.

 

* * *

 

Grantaire is kind of drunk right now.

Tipsy, at the very least.

Enjolras had joined him and Combeferre for dinner - _not a date_ , he had mentally repeated to himself all night - and Grantaire had a couple of glasses of wine too many. Now he’s hand-in-hand with Combeferre, trailing after Enjolras, who is keeping up a relentless pace, hands shoved into his pockets.

“..godlike…” is one of the few words Enjolras catches in the monologue Grantaire is drunkenly mumbling in Combeferre’s ear. Enjolras really he hopes he misheard the snippet about mere mortals being unable to compare to his beauty.

Then there’s a slight thud behind Enjolras, and he turns around to see Grantaire pressing Combeferre against the nearest lamp post and sticking his tongue down his throat. Combeferre starts, but gives himself over to the kiss once he realises what’s going on, and one of Grantaire’s eyes opens to fix on Enjolras, gaze heated.

Enjolras turns away, certain that he’s blushing, and stalks off.

“Wait up, Apollo!” Grantaire says in a singsong voice, and skips after Enjolras, tugging Combeferre along by their joined hands.

Enjolras sighs to himself, but slows his pace. It looks like the nickname is here to stay.

 

* * *

 

_Enjolras_ : Courf I need your help.

 

_Courfeyrac_ : sprry enj kidn od busy rn

 

_Enjolras_ : …you’re texting me while having sex, aren’t you?

 

_Courfeyrac_ : Yes, and he’ll be suitably punished for it. -Cosette x

 

* * *

 

“Enjy!” Courfeyrac cheers as Enjolras opens the front door, throwing his arms around Enjolras’ neck. Enjolras, who is several inches shorter than Courfeyrac, staggers under the weight.

“What is it with this week and obnoxious nicknames?” Enjolras asks, but beckons Courfeyrac inside, once Courfeyrac has released his death grip.

Courfeyrac immediately flings himself onto the couch, propping himself up on his elbows to face Enjolras. “What’s happened now?”

Enjolras makes a face. “Grantaire has started calling me Apollo. As in the god.”

“Oh, yikes.” Courfeyrac winces. “That’s an inferiority complex I don’t want to touch.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes you do.” Courfeyrac replies, and reaches out to pat Enjolras’ knee. “You just don’t want to.”

“Courf.” Enjolras whines, sinking down on the couch next to him. “He’s going to hate me.”

“He’s really, really not.” Courfeyrac says. “Trust me. And communication got me to where I am at the moment - which is dating Marius and Cosette, by the way, thanks for asking - it’s scary as fuck but it’s so important in a healthy relationship.”

Enjolras nods. “I know. I just don’t know what to say. Also, congratulations. I should have asked, I'm sorry.”

Courfeyrac hugs him. "Don't be silly, I was just teasing you. You've got a lot on your mind, I'm not insulted in the slightest."

Enjolras can't help but think how lucky he is to have a friend like Courfeyrac.

 

* * *

 

“You really should tell him.”

Enjolras sighs and runs a hand through his hair, before facing his psychologist and nodding. “I know. It’s just going to be unpleasant.”

“I think this is a real mark of progress, though, Enjolras.” She says. “Not the whole not wanting to communicate with someone when they say something that makes you uncomfortable thing, but the fact that him viewing you in such a manner makes you uncomfortable.”

Enjolras allows himself to smile a little. “I guess so.”

“I’m proud of you. Are you proud of yourself.”

“Yes.” Enjolras says, somewhat surprised to find that it’s true. “I am.”

“Excellent.” She returns his smile. “Now, if you want, we can work on strategies for talking through this, since I know you don’t like to be unprepared, especially when it comes to conversations that might involve emotions.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras says. Everything always seems so clear and straightforward when his psychologist talks things through with him. Even if things quickly become muddled, and he can’t figure them out when he’s by himself, these sessions make him see himself and his situation without any illusions.

He really has to talk to Grantaire. What's more, he actually _wants_ to. If Enjolras is being honest with himself - and he is, in this session - he misses Grantaire. Even if he's kind of dreading the conversation, it'll be worth it if they can go back to normal.

Not that Enjolras is sure there ever is a  _normal_ with him and Grantaire.

 

* * *

 

“Grantaire, can I talk to you?” Enjolras realises he probably should have greeted Grantaire and Combeferre first, but he’s got the words in his head, and he doesn’t want to allow himself to back away from what needs to be said.

“Uh…” Grantaire looks a little shocked at the abrupt manner in which Enjolras is addressing him. Enjolras doesn’t blame him. “Sure.”

“I’ll be in my room.” Combeferre says, and leaves them be.

Enjolras sits on the ottoman, next to Grantaire’s propped up feet, clad in socks that Enjolras thinks Bossuet must have knitted. “Um. Hi, by the way.”

Grantaire laughs. “Hi.”

“It’s just…” Enjolras runs a hand through his hair. “I- I wanted…” He trails off. _Where have his words gone?_

“Enjolras.” Grantaire pulls his feet off the ottoman and leans forward, “Whatever it is, I’m not going to respond badly. I promise.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath. “It’s the whole Apollo thing. It makes me really uncomfortable, and I would appreciate it if you would please stop using it to refer to me.”

“Of course.” Grantaire says, without hesitation. “May I ask why?”

“I don’t like being viewed in that manner. I’m working on my mental health, and it really doesn’t help things. The opposite, really.”

Grantaire eyes close briefly, as if in pain. “God, I’m so sorry, Enjolras. That wasn’t my intention at all.”

“I forgive you.” Enjolras says, reaching over to brush his fingers against the back of Grantaire’s hand. “I know you wouldn’t try to hurt me, which is why I’m asking you to stop, instead of getting mad at you for it.”

Grantaire’s eyes are sad. “I’m sorry I put you in a position where you couldn’t say something when it first started. And that I didn’t notice the effects it had on you.”

“It’s alright.” Enjolras says. “Well, it’s alright now, so long as you stop saying it. I’m curious, though, why Apollo?”

Grantaire lets out a small laugh. “It’s a pretentious art student thing. Apollo is the god of light, and you’re… You’re just really-” He gestures at Enjolras, as if that explains anything. “Bright.”

Enjolras shakes his head, trying to push away an overwhelmingly fond rush of feeling. “Keep the comparisons human next time, please. Be as pretentious as you like, so long as you’re not putting me on a pedestal.”

“Sure thing, Achilles.”

“Demigod. I thought you knew your classics.”

Grantaire laughs. “That I do, I just wasn’t sure if you did. I’ll think of something, I promise.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you just call me ‘Enjolras’?”

“Too many syllables. I’m a very lazy man, Enjy.”

“God, not you too.” Enjolras says, cringing. “Also Achilles isn’t really any shorter.”

“Stop being logical, you.”

 

* * *

 

The problem is never sober Grantaire.

The problem is drunk Grantaire, who is currently on Enjolras’ doorstep. Combeferre is at the library, and Enjolras doesn’t want to disturb him, so he lets Grantaire in and helps him to the couch, covering him with a blanket and placing a bucket on the floor next to him.

“You’re too fucking good to be real.” Grantaire says.

Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just stay there, and please don’t speak.”

“Wait.” Grantaire’s hand reaches out to grasp Enjolras’ wrist. “Don’t leave me alone, please. ‘M gonna be alone soon. Got to keep you guys around while it lasts.”

Enjolras hesitantly sits on the arm of the couch, next to Grantaire’s head. “What do you mean?”

“Combeferre’s too good for me. He’s going to leave me, I just know it.”

“Grantaire-”

“No, it’s true.” Grantaire’s eyes have fluttered shut, and he’s slurring a little. “He’s perfect, you’re perfect. Figures he’s in love with you.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras can feel tears welling up in his eyes, but can’t pull away from Grantaire’s iron grip.

“It’s alright. I love him, I just want him to be happy. And then there’s you. Figures I’d be drawn to someone who embodies everything I lack.” Grantaire lets out a bitter laugh. “I don’t blame you for hating me.”

Enjolras tries to brush away the tears streaming down his cheeks with his free hand. “I don’t hate you, ‘Aire.”

“Oh, good.” Grantaire smiles. “But you’re going to, if I continue to keep ‘Ferre away from you.”

“No- he loves you, Grantaire.”

Grantaire only shakes his head. “He loves you more. It’s okay. I think I love you too.”

Finally, Grantaire’s grip slackens enough for Enjolras to pull away, and he runs into his room, slamming the door behind him.

He calls Combeferre, but can’t even breathe through the tears to tell him what’s going on.

“Enjolras?” Combeferre’s voice is terrified. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry-” Enjolras’ voice is shaky, and he has to take a gasping breath. “I can’t-”

“I’m coming home, Enjolras. I’m on way, just stay where you are.”

Enjolras nods, but Combeferre can’t see that, so he hangs up.

 

_Enjolras_ : Sorry for worrying you. I’ll be alright.

 

_Enjolras_ : I just need you here.

 

_Combeferre_ : I’ll be home in half an hour, tops.

 

* * *

 

Just over twenty minutes later, Enjolras hears the front door open, and the sound of Combeferre’s voice - it’s panicked, and Enjolras feels a wave of guilt - followed by the extended rumble of Grantaire’s drunken rambling. Combeferre responds, and Enjolras can’t hear what he’s saying but his tone is angry, and Enjolras feels awful for being a source of tension between them.

“Hey.”

Enjolras looks up. Combeferre has opened the door a crack, and he looks so concerned. Enjolras thought he couldn’t feel any guiltier, but this has proven him wrong.

“Hi.” Enjolras says, and it’s a little wobbly. He sniffs.

“Can I come in?”

Enjolras nods, and before he can say anything, Combeferre is on the bed next to him and his arms are around him, a hand rubbing his back soothingly.

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras says, his voice breaking. “You can go out and be with Grantaire, if you want. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m mad at him, and he’s not in any danger of choking on vomit, so he can sleep on the couch. I can leave, if you want?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll keep you company.” Combeferre says, and drops a kiss to Enjolras’ cheek.

_He’s in love with you_ , Grantaire had said.

“Grantaire said-” And fuck, he’s crying again. “He said-”

“Shh, Enjolras, hey. It’s alright.” Combeferre pulls Enjolras closer. “If what he was saying was anything like what he said when I came in, then you don't need to tell me.”

“I don’t want to come between you. He really does love you, ‘Ferre.”

Combeferre takes a long moment to reply. “I promise you, whatever our respective feelings are, that you are never going to come between us. It’s possible to lo-”

Enjolras’ hand shoots up to cover Combeferre’s mouth. “Don’t say it. Please. Not now.”

Combeferre gently pulls Enjolras’ hand away. “Okay. The last thing either of us want to do is hurt you.”

“I know.” Enjolras says. “Will you stay?”

Combeferre shifts, so he’s properly lying on the bed, rather than half-sprawled across the pillows. “As long as you want me.”

_I will always want you_ , Enjolras thinks, but keeps the words to himself.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having to rewrite something you were already happy with is not fun!! I haven't redone the next chapter yet (I've been working on an e/r/c christmas fic which I'm excited to upload!!) but it should be up within a week. That should be the second last chapter (technically the last chapter, as the last update will be more of an epilogue than anything).  
> Thanks to everyone who has commented/bookmarked/left kudos, you're the ones keeping me writing (or rewriting, in this case) <3  
> Also this chapter is a little shorter than usual, sorry! This just seemed like the natural place to end it. Next update should be longer - it was definitely longer in the original version I wrote, but we'll see if I can remember all of the details when I write it again.

When Enjolras wakes the next morning, it’s still dark, and he and Combeferre are wrapped around each other. Enjolras allows himself a brief moment to enjoy this, to pretend this is a normal morning for them, and that Combeferre loving him isn’t terrifying and awful. But the illusion can’t last, and Enjolras silently slides out of bed without Combeferre stirring. Enjolras changes in the bathroom, and throws the clothes that smell like Combeferre straight in the washing basket.

Grantaire is sound asleep on the couch when Enjolras tiptoes past, holding his shoes so as not to be too loud. He scribbles a note and leaves it on the bench, before picking up the overnight bag he’d carefully packed, constantly checking to make sure Combeferre was still asleep, and leaves.

Enjolras sits on the low wall out the front of the apartment building while he decides what to do. Eventually, he does what he always does, and calls Courfeyrac.

“Enjolras?” Courfeyrac’s voice is bleary with sleep, and Enjolras feels awful. He’d forgotten how early it was. Typical of him, so caught up in his own problems he didn’t think of others.

“Hi, Courf.” Enjolras says quietly.

“Something better be wrong, or I’m going to kill you for waking me up so early.”

“Something’s wrong.” Enjolras tells him. “I’m sorry. Can I stay with you for a couple of days?”

 

* * *

 

Courfeyrac greets Enjolras at the door, then drags Enjolras to his bed, already asleep by the time Enjolras has pulled off his jeans and slipped under the covers.

“I’m sorry, Courf.” Enjolras whispers to his sleeping form. “I don’t know what to do.”

Courfeyrac makes a small grumbling noise in his sleep, before reaching out and wrapping himself around Enjolras.

Enjolras kind of wishes it was Combeferre, but the weight and warmth is still comforting, and he drifts off within moments.

 

* * *

 

This time, when Enjolras wakes up, sun is streaming in through a crack in the curtains, and the smell of burnt toast is coming from the kitchen.

“Morning!” Courfeyrac calls, infinitely more cheerful than when Enjolras had seen him last. He hands Enjolras a mug of coffee.

“You’re amazing.” Enjolras says, and takes a long drink.

“Please remember you said that.” Courfeyrac says. “Because I might have ruined breakfast.”

Enjolras takes another drink of his coffee.

“Okay.” Courfeyrac says, dumping the dishes in the sink. “Since breakfast isn’t happening, you get to tell me why you’re here.”

Enjolras pauses, looking into the depths of his mug, rather than meeting Courfeyrac’s gaze. “Grantaire got pretty drunk last night. He started saying stuff about how he’s not good enough for Combeferre, and how Combeferre’s going to leave him for me. And then he was saying that, like, he didn’t mind because he loved Combeferre, and he thought he loved me.”

Courfeyrac nods slowly. “Okay. Why did you leave?”

“I don’t want to come between them. They love each other so much, they deserve to be happy.”

Courfeyrac stares right at Enjolras, and Enjolras can’t look away. “We both know it’s possible to love more than one person at a time, and I know you want to date both of them. So be honest with me: why did you run?”

Enjolras wilts. “I’m scared, Courf. I’m messed up, and I’m only going to mess things up. I’m only going to ruin things if I try to pursue something with them.”

“Enjolras.” Courfeyrac holds out his arms, and Enjolras accepts the hug. “You’re amazing. I love you so much, and Grantaire and Combeferre do as well. They would be lucky to have you. I know you want this. Why won’t you let yourself be happy?”

“I don’t deserve it.”

“You deserve the world, Enjolras.” Courfeyrac tightens his arms around Enjolras to hold him closer. “You’re always fighting everything, always believing that people are better than they are, a lot of the time. You can do things for yourself, you know. You don’t have to go home and ask them out, or anything like that. Just go home and talk to them, please? I’m sure they’re worried about you.”

Enjolras presses his forehead against Courfeyrac’s chest, and just lets himself feel safe in his friend’s arms. “Yeah. I should go home.”

 

* * *

 

Combeferre and Grantaire are asleep on the couch when Enjolras gets home, Grantaire sprawled out on top Combeferre, Combeferre’s arms tight around him. There’s a wrinkle between Combeferre’s brows, and Enjolras wishes he could say something to make it better, but he doesn’t want to wake him. _That’s why I left a note_ , Enjolras thinks, _so you wouldn’t have to worry about me_. But that’s all he seems to be causing at the moment - worry for his friends.

_They just care about you_ , one part of him argues, but his _you’re constantly inconveniencing the people you care about side_ triumphs, as usual, so Enjolras gets in the shower, hoping that the too-hot water will distract him from his thoughts. All he gets out of it, though, is reddened skin. At least the mirror fogs up, so he doesn’t have to look at himself as he dries off and dresses in his usual skinny jeans and hoodie, his armour in day-to-day life.

Combeferre is lying on the couch alone when Enjolras walks out into the living room, tapping away at his phone, which he’s holding over his face. He starts when he sees Enjolras, dropping his phone so it smacks into his glasses.

“Ow.” Combeferre says, taking off his glasses to rub at his face. “Hi, Enjolras.”

“Hey.” Enjolras perches on the arm of the couch furthest from Combeferre, but Combeferre holds out an arm, and Enjolras shuffles across the couch to curl against his side.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” Enjolras says, letting his eyes fall closed as Combeferre starts to run his fingers through his hair. “I just needed to sort out my thoughts.”

“It’s okay. Everyone needs their space.” Combeferre’s fingers brush against the shell of Enjolras’ ear, making him shiver and twitch away. “Sorry. Also, sorry for making you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have said anything last night.”

Enjolras is getting tired of apologies, but he’s certain more are to come from Grantaire. “It’s alright. I just want us to go back to normal.”

“What is normal for us Enjolras? Pretending that none of us have feelings for each other? I don’t mind if you don’t reciprocate to the same degree, or if you don’t want to pursue anything, but please just talk to us.”

Enjolras curls into a ball, tucking his face against his knees. “Not now, ‘Ferre, please. Please.”

“Enjolras, please look at me.”

Enjolras turns his head so he’s facing Combeferre, still hunched down.

“I’m not going to do anything that you don’t want to. If you don’t want to talk about this, I’m just going to assume you have no interest, and that’s all that has to happen. If there’s something there, though…”

“Combeferre…” Enjolras doesn’t know what to say, and is saved by the smoke detector going off.

Combeferre immediately dashes into the kitchen, followed by Enjolras, where Grantaire is scraping burnt pancake batter off an ungreased pan, a giant mug of coffee set down near the stove.

“I wanted to try and make up for last night.” Grantaire said, looking down at the smoking pan despondently while the smoke detector shrieks at them. “I’m sorry.”

Combeferre sighs and takes the pan from Grantaire. “Turn on the rangehood. Enjolras, grab a tea-towel or something and flap it under the smoke detector. It should stop soon.”

 

* * *

 

They end up going to a little cafe down the street to get breakfast. Grantaire’s hangover is obviously getting to him, but he doesn’t say a word, just quietly sits in the corner and attempts to rehydrate. He perks up a little once they get their food, and once the plates have been cleared away, and they’re all sipping at cups of tea or coffee, he seems almost fine.

“I’m so sorry, Enjolras.” Grantaire says, while Enjolras stirs the leaves in his teapot, releasing a cloud of peppermint-scented steam. “I was completely out of line.”

Enjolras looks back at him while Combeferre pays far too much attention to his coffee, trying to keep out of it. “I’m not going to say it’s okay, because it’s not, but I know you wouldn’t have said it if you weren’t drunk. It makes me kind of uncomfortable that you view me and Combeferre as being somehow superior to you, but I’m the last person who’s going to judge you for self-esteem issues. So.” It’s all Enjolras can do not to reach across the table and clasp Grantaire’s hand in his. “I forgive you.”

Grantaire snorts, and raises his mug to his lips, but he can’t hide his smile. “You’re too fucking nice, man.”

Enjolras raises his eyebrows at him. “Decent enough human being, maybe. Nice? Nah.”

“I’m seriously…” Grantaire pauses, and rakes his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I _keep doing it_. I’m trying, I swear, but I keep fucking up. I don’t know why either of you want to keep me around, honestly.”

“Because I like you.” Enjolras says simply. “And we all mess up, believe me, I know. But you keep trying, and you maybe do better, and you maybe mess up again. It’s what makes us human. You’re not an intentionally malicious person, ‘Aire. Maybe you’re antagonistic at times, but that’s not the same thing.”

“I know the drinking is a problem, and I’m working to fix it. It’s just really fucking hard.” Grantaire isn’t meeting Enjolras’ gaze. It’s a small table, and Enjolras can feel the nudge Combeferre gives to Grantaire under the table, and his heart breaks a little at the tentative little smile Grantaire sends to Combeferre.

“I can’t speak for Enjolras,” Combeferre says, and takes Grantaire’s hand. Enjolras is itching to reach over and add his hand to the pile. “But I’m here for you, ‘Aire, and I’m not going away unless you want me to.”

Enjolras bites his lip. “I’m not leaving.” It’s not much, and it’s not a confession of feelings, but it’s all he can say for now. He’s never been very good at dealing with his feelings, and this small admission has his heart pounding. But for the way Combeferre and Grantaire look at him, it’s worth it. Grantaire’s entire face has lit up, and Combeferre looks so proud that Enjolras thinks his heart might just burst.

And Enjolras can’t deny it to himself anymore - he’s in love with his best friend and his best friend’s boyfriend. He’s terrified, but in the best possible way.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I might have accidentally started writing an e/r/c Princess Diaries AU instead of finishing off this fic....  
> I haven't written the last chapter yet but it should be up within a week!!

After that conversation, things shift between them.

Grantaire and Combeferre seem to create a habit of making out all over the apartment, and it barely fazes Enjolras any more, even when one - or both - of them open their eyes and catch his gaze.

Grantaire takes to wearing a scarf whenever he’s out of the apartment due to the sheer number of hickeys his neck is covered in, but doesn’t care about baring his neck whenever he’s alone with Combeferre and Enjolras. Enjolras can’t help but picture Combeferre marking Grantaire, or, better yet, marking him. He definitely doesn’t imagine both of them pinning him down and biting and sucking and kissing at his throat. Definitely not.

They seem to have sex all the time, and Enjolras still refuses to get off to their moans. (Even when he’s sure that he heard his name being screamed. And _boy_ does Grantaire scream.) Enjolras doesn’t think they’d mind, but he’s uncomfortable with doing it without their permission, and no way in hell is he going to ask. That’s not to say that his vibrator doesn’t migrate to the drawer of his bedside table, since he’s sexually frustrated constantly. He just saves it for when they’re not at home, or for very late at night when snores are coming from Combeferre’s room.

One morning, Grantaire surfaces with red marks around his wrists, and only grins when Enjolras stares at them. Then he stretches up to reach a box of cereal, and bares a sliver of skin marked by bruises in the shape of Combeferre’s fingers. Enjolras makes what he’s sure is an embarrassing noise at the sight and has to leave the room.

It’s not all sexual, though. Combeferre is freer with his affection, not that he was ever restrained unless Enjolras wanted him to be, and Grantaire starts to seem at ease with touching Enjolras. They’re both there when Enjolras has a hard day at uni, or needs to take his mind of work for Les Amis, and Enjolras finds himself there when Grantaire is trying not to drink, shaking on the kitchen floor, and goes to sit next to him in silence one day when Combeferre is busy and Grantaire can’t get out of bed. There are several days like that in the weeks following, and Enjolras ducks over to Grantaire’s apartment a few times after classes to bring him some food, and maybe clean up a little.

Grantaire doesn’t come to every Amis meeting, but when he does, he’s still antagonistic. It’s different, somehow. His tone is teasing if he’s arguing for the sake of it - he only does that in meetings when it’s relaxed, and they have enough time to go off topic - or he’s entirely serious as he challenges holes in Enjolras’ arguments. Strangely enough, Grantaire doesn’t speak up as much when Combeferre is making his speeches, and Enjolras privately enjoys these interactions, which are his and Grantaire’s alone.

 

Enjolras isn’t really surprised, then, when it all comes to a head one night. They’re watching movies, all piled together on the couch, along with Courfeyrac, whom Enjolras had invited in an attempt to provide some kind of buffer.

Pressed up between Combeferre and Courfeyrac, Enjolras can’t concentrate on the movie - something about robots, and maybe aliens? - with Combeferre so close, glancing over at Enjolras under his lashes, which are long and ink-black, brushing against his skin whenever he lifts his gaze. Despite Combeferre being seated beside his actual boyfriend, he seems to be paying more attention to Enjolras, and every now and then Enjolras glances over at Grantaire to see how he's taking it - Grantaire’s lips are often parted, eyes wide as he takes in Enjolras and Combeferre twined together.

Grantaire catches Enjolras looking at him, and smirks - it’s an annoyingly attractive expression, Enjolras thinks, considering how smug Grantaire looks - before returning his attention to the action sequence taking place on the screen, some kind of ridiculous battle. Enjolras isn’t sure who he’s meant to be rooting for in the fight, having been distracted all night by these beautiful boys.

Enjolras feels completely fucked, but then Combeferre wraps an arm around him, stilling his frantic thoughts.

“You okay?” Combeferre breathes, almost silent.

Enjolras nods, and snuggles against Combeferre’s side, accidentally kicking Courfeyrac.

“ _Dude_.” Courfeyrac says, looking heartbroken.

Enjolras mumbles something vaguely apologetic, but leaves his feet poking into Courfeyrac’s side.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras hadn’t even noticed himself drifting off to sleep, but once he wakes up, he’s wide awake. He’s sprawled across Combeferre, feet still on Courfeyrac, but one arm has stretched out across Grantaire, and his hair has spilt across onto Grantaire’s lap. It feels nice, Grantaire carding his fingers through Enjolras’ hair, and Enjolras can’t hold back a noise of contentment. He can feel Grantaire laugh, his belly shifting against the back of his head, and Enjolras sits up, wiping his eyes blearily, attempting to tame his hair back into something that makes him look less like a lion.

“Sorry.” Enjolras says, stretching. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“It’s okay.” Combeferre tells him, as if Enjolras isn't still half-lying on him. “None of us mind.”

Courfeyrac scoffs. “Speak for yourself, you weren’t the one who got kicked in the balls while he was sleeping.”

Enjolras buries his face in his hands, mortified. “Tell me I didn’t.”

“You did.” Grantaire laughs, and pulls out his phone. “I got it on video.”

“Just kill me now. It’ll be kinder.”

Grantaire shows him the video - Enjolras is more focused on the way Combeferre is looking at his sleeping form, overly fond and loving, and Enjolras doesn’t know how to react to that - and they all wince when Enjolras twitches in his sleep, driving a heel right into Courfeyrac’s crotch.

“I am so sorry.”

But Courfeyrac is laughing as hard as Combeferre and Grantaire, so Enjolras doesn’t press the point.

“I should go to bed, if I’m tired enough to fall asleep on you.” Enjolras says, even though he doesn’t really want to leave the warmth of Combeferre, who he’s still huddled against. “Night.”

They send him off with a series of hugs and a chorus of goodnights, and Enjolras slips into bed, safe in the knowledge of their affection.

Despite how easily he fell asleep on the couch, though, sleep eludes Enjolras, and he gets up with the intention of making a cup of peppermint tea or a hot chocolate. He can hear the murmur of voices as he’s about to open the door, and presses his ear against it instead.

“...know you like him, Combeferre, you’ve told me. And Grantaire, well. You’re not exactly subtle.”

“What do you expect? He’s completely gorgeous.” Enjolras loses track of the conversation for a moment, while he tries to take that in. None of it is exactly news to Enjolras, but hearing it is something else.

“You must know he cares about you.” Enjolras freezes at Courfeyrac’s words. “Why don’t you say something?”

“He’s always so nervous whenever we even touch on the subject.” Combeferre sounds sad, and Enjolras just wants to hug him, and say _I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you._ “I didn’t want to scare him away. I love him so much that I don’t even care if he doesn’t want to pursue a romantic relationship, I just want him to stay.”

Enjolras digs his nails into the meat of his palms. He feels awful, but he can’t go out and face them yet.

“When have you ever known Enjolras to take initiative with his feelings? If it’s something he thinks that’s going to inconvenience him or get in the way, then he’s going to ignore it in the hope that it’ll stop.”

Enjolras knows it’s true, but it still hurts that Courfeyrac is so easily talking about issues that he’s struggled with for years. Enjolras knows that Courfeyrac isn’t trying to make light of his troubles, but it kind of feels like it.

“He doesn’t want to hurt you, so maybe if you actually talk to him about it…”

“I’ve tried.” Combeferre just sounds tired now. “He doesn’t want to.”

“Please just give him time. Don’t give up on this.”

Enjolras steps away from the door, and sinks back onto the bed, legs shaking. He knows that if he doesn’t speak up, they might move on. If he can at least explain things, then even if he needs more time, they’ll be more likely to wait for him.

He knows that he wants this. It’s just hard, when so much of himself is fighting against this, against pursuing something that feels selfish. But he’s not going to get anywhere debating this with himself, when he’s only ever going to find his internal battle at a stalemate.

He has to speak to them.

 

* * *

 

“Hey.” Grantaire says, voice soft, when he sees Enjolras enter the room. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…” Enjolras doesn’t know what to say, how to bring up what he wants to talk about, so he just shrugs, and says half of the truth. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Come sit down, then.” Grantaire shuffles over, and Enjolras slides into the gap between him and Combeferre.

“Thanks.” Enjolras says. “What are we watching?”

“I have no fucking clue.” Grantaire said. “A bad acid trip?”

“ _James and the Giant Peach._ ” Courfeyrac corrects.

Enjolras turns to stare at him. “Why?”

“Why not?”

Enjolras groans, and settles down to watch a movie that was much less terrifying during childhood.

 

* * *

 

“Hey.” Grantaire’s voice is soft again, which just makes Enjolras melt. “You sure there’s nothing wrong? You’re looking a little spacey.”

“There’s nothing wrong, I just don’t know-” Enjolras breaks off and rubs at the bridge of his nose. He raises his voice, since he knows Combeferre and Courfeyrac are listening in. “How do you guys do it? Balance what you want with what you feel like you should be doing?”

Surprisingly enough, it’s Grantaire who answers. “If it were someone who you were fighting for, would you begrudge them for trying to find happiness?”

“I guess not.”

Combeferre wraps an arm around him. “Then why hold yourself to a different standard than literally everyone else in the world?”

Enjolras feels tiny and scared, but he has to answer, even if his voice shakes. “I don’t feel like I deserve it.”

“Enjolras,” Courfeyrac says, “You’re fine with platonic love, why do you have such an issue accepting romantic love?” 

And here it is, what the conversation had been about the entire time, Enjolras just hadn’t want to say it in so many words. “I’m scared. It feels selfish.”

“Loving someone isn’t selfish.” Courfeyrac tells him. “It’s not like you live just for the other person, or people, because that would be a really unhealthy relationship, but it’s not selfish.”

“What if I can’t give them enough of me? What if I give too much of myself to my work, and not enough to them?”

Combeferre is a far cry from his usual steady, sure self. “Then let them decide.”

Enjolras closes his eyes, feeling Combeferre and Grantaire tense on either side of him. “Okay.” He’s made the leap, even if he could have made a bigger, more decisive one. It’s in their hands now, and Enjolras isn’t even scared. He feels free.

There’s a pause, as Combeferre and Grantaire exchange looks over Enjolras’ head.

“Enjolras.” Combeferre says, using the arm around Enjolras’ shoulders to pull him closer. “Any part of yourself that you’re willing to share with us is more than enough. We know you, we’re not going to have any expectations of you that you’re not going to be able to fulfil.”

“And I’ve fucked up enough times to ruin things permanently, but for some reason you’ve both kept me around.” Grantaire says, and nudges Enjolras. “So don’t stress, Combeferre is, like, the nicest person ever, as I’m sure you know.”

Enjolras laughs. “And what about you?”

“Me? I’m an arsehole.” Grantaire says. He seems as if he’s on the verge of saying something else, something more, until-

Grantaire looks away from Enjolras, straight at Courfeyrac, who is watching avidly, chin in hands. “Do you mind?”

“I’ve put up with all of your emotional bullshit, but I don’t even get to catch any of the action. Figures.” Courfeyrac says, but gets up and smiles to show he’s joking. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Then he’s gone, and the three of them are alone.

Combeferre laughs. “That really doesn’t rule anything out.”

“Good.” Enjolras says, and turns to face him. “Then may I kiss you?”

When their lips meet, it’s almost anticlimactic. Enjolras has been wanting this for so long that the kiss could never live up to what he was building up in his head. Then Combeferre pulls Enjolras onto his lap and deepens the kiss and _oh_ -

Enjolras pulls away, flushed and panting.

“That was.” Grantaire blinks at them, pupils dilated. “Wow.”

“Now you know how I feel.” Enjolras says, uncaring of the fact that he’s still sitting in Combeferre’s lap. “It was hard to focus on anything with you two making out anywhere. And you should really know, the walls here are very thin. I heard everything.”

“Oh, uh-” Grantaire looks embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”

“You should apologise.” Enjolras says, sliding off Combeferre so he can move to straddle Grantaire. “It was very distracting.”

“Just distracting, huh?” Combeferre asks.

Enjolras really wants to kiss Grantaire, but holds off until after he’s answered Combeferre. “I would have felt weird getting off to it without you knowing, but I was so tempted.”

“Jesus, Enjolras-” And finally, finally, Grantaire is kissing him, and it’s _filthy_. Enjolras didn’t know kissing could be like this. While kissing Combeferre had been wonderful and calming and Enjolras had never wanted to stop, this is so intense that Enjolras has to pull away, gasping, and Grantaire takes the opportunity to attack his throat.

“ _Aire_.” It’s all Enjolras can manage. He doesn’t even know what he was going to say.

Combeferre is staring at them, wide-eyed. “Bed?”

“Bed.” Enjolras confirms.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras wakes in the morning to find Grantaire’s fingers gently running through his hair, while Combeferre is sound asleep on the other side of him.

“Morning.” Enjolras says, shifting to lay his head on Grantaire’s chest.

The smile Grantaire offers him is breathtaking. “Morning. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nah.” Enjolras says, and gives into the urge to nuzzle against Grantaire’s skin. “It’s a nice way to wake up anyway.”

They lie like that for some time, Enjolras not keeping track of how long, uncaring of anything but Grantaire’s arms around him, and the warmth of Combeferre behind him, one of Combeferre’s legs slung over his.

Combeferre eventually makes a small noise and stirs, and Enjolras turns to face him, Grantaire’s arms only moving enough to allow the movement, still holding onto Enjolras.

“Hi there.” Combeferre says, voice low. His eyes are bright, and Enjolras doesn’t ever want Combeferre to stop looking at him like that.

“Hi.” Enjolras replies, still pillowed on Grantaire’s chest. He doesn’t know what else to say, just grins helplessly.

“Haven’t changed your mind about us yet?” Combeferre looks as though he already knows the answer.

Enjolras just clings tighter to Grantaire. “You couldn’t drag me away.”

Grantaire looks down at Enjolras with an almost stunned but endlessly pleased expression - he looks as though he’s never seen anything as precious.

All Enjolras can think is _I love you_. He’s not ready to tell them, not just yet, but if they keep looking at him like this, then it’s not going to be long.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is later than I said it would be!! Christmas happened, and I got super busy. Thanks so much to everyone for leaving kudos and comments and bookmarks. This fic recently hit over 100 kudos, thanks everyone <3  
> Have some indulgent fluff.

Enjolras is sitting at the kitchen table when Grantaire comes home, staring at his computer screen so intently that he doesn’t even notice his presence until Grantaire clears his throat.

Enjolras jumps, and looks over to find his boyfriend - well, one of his boyfriends, and that’s still new enough to be completely thrilling - standing right next to him. “Oh. Hi.”

“Okay, what’s wrong?” Grantaire asks, pulling up a chair next to Enjolras and sinking into it.

Enjolras makes a small grumbling noise. “I stupidly included this argument that I thought was good at the time, but it was _terrible_ , but I’ve already submitted it so I can’t change it now. I didn’t even need to submit it so early, I don’t know why I-”

“Enjolras, hey.” Grantaire places a hand on the top of Enjolras’ laptop, and closes it when Enjolras nods. “Come here.”

Enjolras lets Grantaire grab his hand and tug him away from the table to the couch, where Grantaire drops backwards onto the cushions, pulling Enjolras on top of him. He wraps his arms around Enjolras, and Enjolras buries his face against Grantaire’s neck.

“It’s only one part of the whole essay, right?” Grantaire says, when Enjolras’ breathing has slowed to match his.

Enjolras nods, his nose rubbing against the side of Grantaire’s throat.

“Then it won’t be that bad. And how much of the total grade is this essay?”

“Twenty percent.” Enjolras says, voice muffled.

Grantaire pushes Enjolras away just a little, enough to take Enjolras’ face in his hands and make eye contact with him. “So that one argument is only a part of an essay that’s only part of your overall grade.”

Enjolras nods again, and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Are you okay now?”

“Yeah.” Enjolras says, “But I still want to hug for a bit.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Grantaire says.

Combeferre finds them like that almost half an hour later, and only joins them on the couch, limbs entangled. They don’t even notice the sun setting until the room has gone completely dark, and Enjolras’ chest almost hurts with feeling, with how much he loves the two of them.

 

* * *

 

“We’re going to brunch at ten tomorrow morning, whether you’re awake or not.” Grantaire announces one night, while Enjolras squints at his laptop screen. “So you might want to come to bed.”

“You dick, that’s not what I told you to say!” Combeferre calls out from the bedroom. “It was meant to be _we care about your health and we want you to get some actual sleep tonight, so please come to bed._ ”

Enjolras grins and shuts his laptop. “The words _come to bed_ alone would have been enough, you know.”

 

* * *

 

Enjolras had quickly discovered that Grantaire doesn’t sleep well - one of the reasons he and Combeferre seemed to have so much sex over the past months, apparently, since it reliably knocks him out - so it’s no longer a surprise to wake up to find Grantaire missing from the bed, and this morning is no exception. The shower is running when Enjolras turns and checks the clock - six AM, far too early to be awake, in Enjolras’ opinion - then turns back so he can tuck himself against Combeferre.

Sometime later, after Enjolras has dozed for a while, Grantaire slips back into bed, smelling like Enjolras’ grapefruit shower gel. Combeferre stirs as the mattress dips under Grantaire, and they all lie there in a warm, sleepy haze until it’s time to get up.

 

* * *

They end up running late for their brunch reservation, none of them having wanted to leave the comfort of their bed - Combeferre’s bed, being the biggest, has become _their_ bed, and Enjolras’ bedroom is the study, while Grantaire’s apartment still sits there for whenever any of them need space - and a grumpy waiter shows them to their table.

“Combeferre,” Enjolras realises, pausing with a forkful of pancakes halfway to his mouth, “Was that breakfast invitation all those weeks ago an attempt to get me to date you?”

Combeferre blushes and looks down at his plate instead of meeting Enjolras’ gaze, whacking Grantaire’s hand when he steals a strawberry. “Well, kind of. Mostly it was me wanting all of us to spend time together, but if it had turned into dating, then neither I nor Grantaire was going to complain.”

Enjolras can feel himself blushing. “I was interested, I always was, but I just wasn’t ready. I’m sorry if it hurt you.”

“When you say _always_ ,” Grantaire says, “How long do you mean?”

“You know when you first came over to the apartment and I was being all awkward?”

“Yeah.” Grantaire says, disbelieving.

“Well, that was because you were - _are_ \- so attractive, and I lost all of my ability to talk around you.” Enjolras shyly glances up to see Grantaire’s reaction, and Grantaire looks dumbfounded.

“Me?” Grantaire asks, voice hoarse. “Me, attractive enough to get _you_ to lose your words?”

“I’m easily as attracted to you as I am Combeferre.” Enjolras says, and he can tell that Combeferre is blushing too, even if Combeferre’s darker skin hides it better.

“Jesus.” Grantaire slumps back in his chair. “Are you sure you don’t need to wear your glasses all the time?”

Enjolras doesn’t respond, just slices off a piece of pancake and eats it, while Grantaire seems to be having an internal meltdown.

That night, Enjolras and Combeferre focus their attention on Grantaire, making sure that he knows that they think he’s beautiful, and Enjolras kisses the love that he can’t yet put into words against their skin, and he’s sure that they know how he feels.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras nearly gasps it out several times - once, in particular, when Grantaire’s face is buried between his thighs, and he hadn’t known it was possible for someone to do _that_ with their tongue. He’s glad he didn’t say it then, though - none of them deserve for him to first tell them he loves them during sex, since Enjolras knows that both Combeferre and Grantaire would doubt it, just a little.

So he makes sure they know in the little things he does - he makes coffee before Combeferre wakes up, always sees them off with a kiss, offers to give Grantaire a massage whenever he’s stiff from dancing.

It’s not that surprising to Enjolras, then, when Combeferre beats him to it.

Courfeyrac drags everyone out for dancing one weekend, and Enjolras decides to go along, to the cheers of the collected Amis. He isn’t quite drunk, just tipsy, and Grantaire draws him and Combeferre out onto the dance floor, eyes bright, cheeks flushed.

Enjolras is terrible at dancing, he knows it, and he spends most of the night laughing as Grantaire tries to show him how to move, both of them taking turns to dance with Combeferre.

When it’s his turn to try and grind up against Combeferre, Enjolras throws his head back, cares forgotten in this moment as Combeferre’s hands find their way to his hips. It’s more awkward than sexy, and the three of them are laughing.

“You’re terrible at this.” Grantaire says, and Enjolras grins at him.

“I _know_. But that’s kind of the point, yeah?”

Combeferre presses a kiss to the back of Enjolras’ neck. “Not really. But I still love you for it.”

Enjolras freezes for a long moment, then turns in Combeferre’s grip, trying to sway to the heavy beat of the music. “What was that?”

“That’s not what I meant to say.”

Enjolras is well aware that Grantaire has stopped dancing, that he’s listening intently, but isn’t intruding on this moment.

“But is it true?” Enjolras prompts.

“Yes.”

Enjolras kisses Combeferre. “I can’t say it yet - to either of you - but thank you.”

“We’ll wait.” Combeferre says, and reaches out for Grantaire, who presses up against Enjolras’ back, and Enjolras can’t see him, but he knows that Grantaire is a far better dancer than him, can feel it in his movements. They spend the rest of their time at the club tangled together, and Enjolras immediately drags them to bed when they get home.

 

* * *

 

When Enjolras does say it, it’s three in the morning, when Combeferre has dragged him away from his computer to sleep. It’s warm under the covers, and Grantaire is sitting up waiting for them, despite the fact that he looks exhausted.

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras says, feeling awful.

Grantaire only holds out his arms, and Enjolras gratefully falls into them. Combeferre sits next to the two of them, rubbing Enjolras’ back.

“We know you, Enjolras.” Grantaire kisses Enjolras. “We’re not going to be mad at you for this. We didn’t have to stay up, we just wanted to. Because you matter to us.”

And maybe Enjolras’ brain is a bit addled because it’s so late, because he can’t stop himself from blurting it out: “I love you.”

Grantaire jolted back, stunned, his head smacking the wall. “What?”

“Both of you.” Enjolras’ heart is racing. “I love you.”

Combeferre and Grantaire are practically luminous, both grinning widely. “I-” they start to speak at the same time, and Grantaire gestures for Combeferre to go first.

“I’ve already said this, but I don’t think I can ever say it enough. I love you, Enjolras. So much.”

“I know.” Enjolras says, and lets out a small laugh. He leans across to kiss Combeferre.

“Hey,” Grantaire interrupts, “Can I get in on this?”

Enjolras pulls away from Combeferre to face Grantaire, eyebrows raised.

“I love you, you ridiculous man.” Grantaire says, and Enjolras laughs again.

“You dork.” Enjolras retorts, and Grantaire kisses him mid-word, mouth open. Enjolras splutters and pulls away. “It’s too fucking late for this. I think we’re all getting a little delirious.”

Combeferre gets the lights, and Enjolras reluctantly pulls away from Grantaire to settle on the pillows between his boyfriends, tucked against their bodies. It overheats sometimes, but Enjolras still sleeps better like this than he ever has.

“I love you.” Enjolras says again, mumbles it against the back of Combeferre’s neck, lips brushing his skin.

Combeferre rolls over to face Enjolras. “Sleep, love.”

Safe and warm and _loved_ , Enjolras’ lids close of their own accord, and he is asleep within moments.

 

* * *

 

Enjolras wakes in the morning tangled around Combeferre, Grantaire’s side of the bed empty as usual. After kissing Combeferre’s forehead - and Combeferre makes a small, sleepy noise that makes Enjolras want to kiss him again, so he does - Enjolras rises to find Grantaire. He’s at the table, one foot up on the chair he’s sitting on, one hand wrapped around his mug of coffee, the other tapping away at Enjolras’ computer.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asks, and Grantaire turns, startled.

“I thought I’d give you a hand with your essay. Not any writing-” he’s quick to add, at Enjolras’ startled expression, “Just suggestions, and editing. You looked as though you could use the sleep, but I know how much you wanted to work on this.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras bends over to kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. Grantaire looks up and grins at him, and Enjolras rests a finger under Grantaire’s chin so he can kiss his lips at the right angle.

“You love me.” Grantaire says with a grin, and turns back to Enjolras’ computer. “I’m amazing, I know.” The bravado is shaky, obviously faked, but Enjolras is a fan of the _fake it ‘til you make it_ model of self-love.

“I’ll get us breakfast.” Enjolras says, once Grantaire’s focus is off him.

“You’ll do no such thing.” Combeferre’s voice is raspy, and his eyes are scrunched. He’s clearly had less sleep than he’d like. He’s standing in the doorway, a blanket around his bare shoulders. “Come back to bed. _Please_.”

“I’ll just finish-”

Enjolras shuts the lid of his computer, slow enough that Grantaire’s fingers aren’t at risk of being squished. “It can wait.”

They hurry back to bed, and Enjolras doesn’t think of the work he has to do once, not with his attention focused on the two men in bed with him. He’ll worry about the assignment later - and worry he will, his anxiety is better but not gone, may never be gone - and stress over all the things he has done and not done, but he will have support from his friends and lovers, and he won’t be alone. Things are not perfect, but they are _better_ , and that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking with me throughout this fic!! I've also been working on an e/r/c Princess Diaries AU the past couple of weeks, first chapter should be up sometime in the new year!!


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